TWISTED WIT: A Man's Worth His Weight in WHAT?!

Gigi James’
TWISTED WIT

Hey Baby, Hold Still, I’m Trying to Weigh Your Nuts

So yesterday, I did the stint on Playboy Radio - Afternoon Advice with Tiffany Granath (SIRIUS Radio Channel 198). SPECIAL THANKS AND LOVE AND ALL KINDS OF MUSHY STUFF - KISSES AND HUGS TO TCOOO AND EVERYONE WHO COMMENTED ON TCOOO’S BLOG POST YESTERDAY! YOU ALL MADE MY YEAR! I CAN’T THANK YOU ENOUGH! I have to say, it was a very interesting experience and I loved bantering with her about my book and the touchy topic of philandering. Tiffany is hot and the show is the BOMB! Not that I haven’t enjoyed the other radio shows I’ve been on touting my book, but something from Playboy Radio is nagging at me. No - Hugh didn’t call and ask me to be on the television show . . .or a guest to his home . . .yet. A caller whose name I can’t remember - that happens - shared that his ex or whatever has a 100% accuracy rate of detecting her man has been cheating. She weighs his testicles. Yes, your eyes do not deceive you - she (I’m guessing) puts her honey’s balls on a scale to weigh them. Heavy sack? He’s been faithful. A little light? He’s got some ‘splainin’ to do.

Question. Are you frigging kidding me? A woman wants to find out if her man has been cheating - so she drops his balls on a scale to weigh the contents? Like a bundle of fruit in the grocery store? So asking him “Honey - have you been sliding your eel in somebody else’s tank?” wouldn’t be enough? Personally - I just don’t want to hold a guy by the rocks and put them on the scale. WTF?! Which scale should I use? The bathroom scale or the one . . Shit, is there another one? Please don’t say the kitchen. Who in the heezy does this? Okay - I was a biology major and with my extensive history of science experiments, I know that in order for this absolutely asinine theory to some sort of accurate analysis, one would have to have a very strict schedule of weighing the ball sack. Way more often than at Weight Watchers, Jenny Craig and the airport combined, okay. He would have to have a weigh-in in the morning before breakfast, at night, before and after each seminal emission (including those resulting from a solo rendezvous, nocturnal, post-coital and the “OOPS! I thought you were done . . .” ). Folks, that’s just too much damn work. Once you have gathered all your data and determined the proper and consistent weight for seeds - what do you do next? Fit Honey Bunny with special underwear alarm outlined with a shock wire so that when the nuts fall out of their set weight guidelines - he gets buzzed. *scratching head contemplating . . . * We’re also assuming that Sugar Bear doesn’t wank - at all.

I don’t know one guy and seriously doubt that I ever WILL know a man on this planet that could lay pipe so sweet and divine to make me lose my mind and every shred of dignity in my soul to warrant me - to weigh his testicles. For any reason - be it for an infidelity test or because I was paid a large sum of money to do so - NOT HAPPENING.

I HATE HALLOWEEN!

Yep, it’s that horrible time of year when those disgusting black and orange candies clutter up the store shelves in wholesale bulk-sized packages crudely flashing in your dieting face “BUY ME BUY ME!” for those damn kids and retarded adults in plastic overpriced hideously cheesy costumes doing the evil old tradition of glorified panhandling. Door-to-door panhandling at that too. How annoying. Halloween just pisses me off. Not just because it represents death and dedication to the devil, was originated for paganism, and anything else of a sadistic nature, but because it’s just GROSS!

My kids have never partaken of Halloween festivities or gone trick-or-treating. I’ve been called a “cruel” mom by some friends and family for not letting them do Halloween. To tell you the truth- they don’t even care for it. On Rick’s first Halloween in school - I was called to pick him up. His presumptuous teacher decided to paint the faces on the children who did not show up decked out in doof wear to mimic a costume. Rick - not quite being aware of Halloween etiquette stood in line for the face painting joining the excitement of his classmates. Those geeks. When it came time for his turn - the teacher mistakenly tried to put the paint crayon (whatever ) on his face. She neglected to use a brand new one (which the 5-year-old observed) and he was totally repulsed by that thing touching his face after it just been scraping the face of some other kid - the one with cooties- and well . . . he had a fit. Anxiety attack was the actual diagnosis, but we don’t want those words appearing anywhere in his school or medical records -he may want to run for office one day. That only reminded me of the time my next door neighbor (Deanna on my tops) had a Halloween party (I was 8) complete with Haunted House (their laundry room) and there was a “bobbing for apples.” I wasn’t first in line. I immediately vacated the line with Flash Gordon speed when I saw David from down the block (a kid we once witnessed sniff dog doo in the grass at a VERY close range) shove his head face down into the bucket of water and apples, OPEN his MOUTH, let the water from inside the bucket wash all throughout the interior of his cavity creeped MOUTH and the ends of his hair as he blindly grasped around the water with his MOUTH at various apples (leaving his teeth prints in each one)- taking two to three tries (his head was lifted out of the bucket by Deanna’s dad when it kinda looked like the kid was drowning) before hitting pay dirt. Did I mention that he wasn’t first in line either? It would have been easier to convince me to bob for corn in SHIT after seeing THAT than to bob for any stinking apple in any bucket! [For the record - I liked David. He was a nice kid - just peculiar - and not welcomed to our pool parties due to his revolting infatuation with dog doo]

I don’t know about some of you, but if you grew up in the 80s or before, it was a rather bizarre customary thing to publicize to greedy candy mooching children that it was an absolute must to have their treasured sweets checked for razor blades and poison. Hospitals even advertised that they would open the ER or something and allow candy to be x-rayed for harmful items in the CANDY! And I‘m cruel . . . .?

The grand finale of Halloweens for me was the year in seventh grade, after a night of properly egging Centennial Middle School and a few neighboring homes of jerk snots that made my Shit List using sacred eggs that my cohorts and I saved in an airtight box secured by a sack left in my back shed for almost a month prior. It was all strategically emphasized with the flimsiest toilet paper a Cuban kid with a football shaped head could swipe from his mother’s cabinet. Two days later, my cousin a/k/a 1010 WINS (all news, all day . . .) SNITCHED like an indicted rapper’s “assistant” and I was not allowed to see civilization (school ain’t civilized) for two months. Halloween sucks day old Kitty Litter.

We will be doing the same thing we do every year - sit in the house with all the outside lights out - hiding and eating all of the candy corn getting sugar rushes watching reality TV. That’s scary enough - I hear this year VH-1 might run an Adrianne Curry special followed by an “I Love New York2” Marathon. AAAAAAHHHHHHHH!

If you happen to be in the New York area - I will be signing copies of “I Didn’t Sign Up For This! At Barnes & Noble at 267 Seventh Avenue, Brooklyn, New York (Park Slope) at 5:00 P.M. Please come. Even if you have to jump on a plane and pay astronomical fees in airfare- please show up. Don’t just do it for me, do it for my cheeky Jon Jon who at the last signing handed out cards greeting patrons while informing them “Please buy my mom’s book - she won’t feed me until she sells them.”