Stranger than Friction
By Vanessa Redux, Sex Columnist
So, we’ve all heard the stories about the girl who smeared peanut butter on her hairy taco and let her unsuspecting pooch go downtown, or the one about a certain Buddhist celeb who had to have a gerbil removed from his stink bits, but in hearing any of these tales one has to wonder how tall they really are. I’ve always thought they have to be based on something, don’t they?
I suppose this sentiment depends on many factors, like who the subject of the legend is, how old the legend appears to be, and whether or not it just sounds like outright bullshit. I did find a site, snopes.com, that claims to have debunked the bunk and verified the veracious. After perusing the bits and bytes of the sites I have concluded that people are even odder than I thought. Whether these stories are true or not, someone either did it or sat down and made it up. I’m not sure which I respect and yet am repelled by more.
First of all one of my favourites, the Empress Catherine the Great was not so named because she was a wicked frolf player, and I have heard over the years that she was particularly fond of making connections in the corral, especially with animals of the equine persuasion. There is an urban legend that she died while making love to Mr. Ed so to speak and this is verifiably false, there are records of her death and she died from a brain aneurism. Catherine the Great was so named because she overthrew her insane husband in a coup, brought schools and prosperity to her adopted country (she was a German princess), and led successful war campaigns. I suppose the view of women being what it was in the late 18th century people had to come up with a reason why she was so rad. “I heard it’s all the horse semen that gives her the super lady powers.”
This may be more of a misnomer than an urban legend but this one has always bothered me because it seems so ridiculous. How many times have you heard that big shoes, long hands, or even a giant schnozz are a good indication of the size of the man downstairs? This goes against the old adage “some are growers, not showers,” but don’t take my word for it. Apparently a bunch of British urologists thought this idea needed to be tested and I’m pretty sure their hypothesis in the negative was probably based on their having compared their own junk to various extremities and wondering, “No match here, hmmm, well we should probably conduct an experiment in which we gently tug on and measure a hundred dudes wangs just to make sure.” One of the greatest mysteries of man: solved, that’s a big nope.
You may not have ever heard this one before but I am going to share it, not because it is infamous, but because it’s true and therefore should be infamous. This account was published in a general practitioners journal and is truly stranger than fiction. A guy, let’s call him Buddy, shows up in the emergency room and asks for a doctor who deals with “a man’s troubles.” The nurse finds the doctor who wrote this account and he proceeds to take a look at the problem.
Buddy pulls his pants and skivvies off and the doctor is suddenly aware of an unpleasant odor. He spots a large jagged gouge going up the Buddy’s leg leading into bandaged area twice as large as a grapefruit. When the doc removed the bandage the area is oozing and just generally infected and gross, but he sees something strange. There are small very dark elongated areas amid the blood matted pubes. Doc asks what they are and Buddy replies that he had injured himself at the machine shop where he worked a few days before and tried to staple the laceration together with a staple gun and one inch staples.
During the next day’s surgery eight staples are removed and the left testicle is seen to be completely absent. They close Buddy up and later he divulges the circumstances of his predicament to the good doctor.
Buddy is a single loner type and so when all his coworkers left the shop at lunch he would stay behind. As such he had begun regularly masturbating in such a way that would make most people grab their junk and wince, and, as Buddy had proven, this would be for good reason. He would achieve his lunchtime wank by holding his penis against the canvas-belt drive of a long floor-based piece of running machinery. (No matter how many times I try to picture this I am still perplexed.) The rest is fairly self-explanatory but I think this part is the best. His scrotum got caught and he was thrown clear! The doc says he must have been in so much shock that he didn’t feel much pain and actually writes, “I can only assume that he abandoned this method of self gratification.”
Hmm, I’m not convinced. If you’re imbecilic enough to rub your pubic plumbing on a piece of machinery, ANY piece of machinery, then who’s to say what else you’re liable to do. Maybe shoot eight inch-long staples into your ball sac, actually make that definitely, and then just grit your teeth and hope your genital surgery will work out. “I just need a little Polysporin.”
Personally, I’m just glad that the chances of Buddy reproducing are probably nil. Look for more tales from the slippery side this summer.