A day in the life of my balls

My balls rose at 6am this morning. The air was cold, my balls were protected by a thin layer of sweat that had collected during the night. Unfortunately, I could also smell my balls clean through my sweats, so I knew that something had to be done. If I could smell them, so could others.

My shower was quick and brisk and woke my balls up in a hurry. However, the journey from the bathroom to my dressing area was cold and fraught with peril. It had made my balls shrivel, shrivel like an old man in line at a buffet. Shrivelled like a short man at a basketball game. Shrivelled like a fat girl who accidentally smelled my balls.

After my balls were cleaned and clothed, it was time to go to work. My balls often get sweaty when I work, I don't know why, they just do. I've tried talcum powder, didn't help. I've tried wrapping flannel rags around my balls, yet they still sweat. I've tried dessicant silica packets in an attempt to stave off the wetness, but no matter what I do, my balls persevere in their persistence to perspire.

After lunch my balls often take a nap. During this period of rest, it doesn't matter how much activity I engage in, or how humid it gets in my shorts, my balls refuse to sweat. They call it "our time".

Once my balls have rested, they spend at least 30 minutes taunting me, and sometimes it's not just me, on very rare occasions I catch my balls making crank calls. Once I even caught them calling The White House. When I inquired as to their motives, they informed me that my penis was on vacation and they just wanted to talk to a bunch of dicks.

I'm not quite sure what to do about my balls. They sweat whenever they like, wherever they like, in fact they're sweating right now. I'd put the smack down on them, but then I would cum blood, and trust me, once is enough.

After supper, my balls like to rest in a pool of brandy. Their libatiousness aside, the liquid both burns and soothes simultaneously, and to this, I attribute my balls' youthful appearance.

But for all the trouble, for all the sweating, I cherish my balls. But sometimes I feel as though I have learned just as much from them as they have learned from me.

Tomorrow my balls and I will write a letter together to the Christian Children's Fund. My balls have expressed interest in sponsoring a child. For merely 80 cents a day, my balls can change a child's life. That's less than a bottle of talcum powder. How wonderful are my balls?

Eggleston? Roundfellow? Where for art thou, crotch potatoes?