Sunday, June 23, 2013

Balls and Other Bouncy Things....

Ah.  Summer's first Sunday.  Hope the weather in your part of the world is as nice as what our fearless forecasters have promised to those of us who reside here in the State of Concrete Gardens.  I am a happy boy when Sunday's weather permits me to go running on, around and over the avenues and byways of this little hamlet I call home.  Well, happy is an exaggeration perhaps but "decidedly less ornery" is a rating we can likely more readily agree upon.  There is nothing like back-to-back runs of 6-10 miles (and yesterday's was just delightful) on the weekend to clear my head in time to head back into the trenches on Monday morning. 

And while work is what it is - if it was supposed to be entertaining it would be called "Fun for Pay" - this week has a distinctly uptempo vibe to it.  The girl child and future son-in-law shall be descending upon us from Levelland by Thursday.  And on Saturday, we shall all gather for a wedding.  My brother-in-law Frank's second oldest child, Nicole, is marrying Jason.  Two terrific kids.  It shall be a beautiful day.  I hope that the weather pixies smile upon them as they did upon anyone whose wedding took place this weekend. 

I saw the news item the other evening (giving that term the broadest defintition possible) regarding the fact that the baby produced by the Kardashian/West coupling has been named "North".  Based upon the choice of her first name, I presume that she shall carry her father's last name and not her mother's.  For two people who travel as much as K and K, having a child who doubles as a compass is actually not a terrible idea.  My initial reaction to reading the child's name was to make fun of the two of them for sticking this innocent baby with the dumbest name possible.  And then I remembered that Gwyneth Paltrow and her husband, Coldplay frontman Chris Martin, have burdened their children with names that make "North" seem like a a downright inspired choice.

While sympathy should certainly be directed to little North, not only for her name, but for her involuntary indoctrination into the three-ring circus that is the attention-craving family of which her mother is a part, she is not the person most deserving of your sympathy this week.  Poor Wesley Warren, Jr. has problems I would not wish upon my worst enemy.  Hell, I would not even wish them on a Kardashian.  Mr. Warren spent an indeterminate amount of time toting around one hundred and forty pound testicles. 

That is not a misprint.  140 POUNDS.  This poor guy had testicles that weighed more than a baby hippo.  His tale of woe came to light this week due to some incredible complications that arose as a result of the 13-hour surgery he underwent to correct that condition.  For years I have referred to someone who does something that seems to be particuarly brazen or brash as having, "Balls the size of church bells". 

I never thought I would see someone who actually did. 


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