Lamont Gets His Balls Cut Off–For all the Right Reasons, Sorta
Mutt Reasonably Inquires: "Well What About Your Balls?"
Nate Thayer
August, 20, 2013
Lamont, pal, I have some very bad news for you.
Despite your personal policy of refusing to sit when I ask you to unless you have irrefutable evidence there is a cookie involved, as your best pal, I am suggesting you really need to sit down for this one, buddy.
Your balls are causing me problems.
I know, pal, you are very fond of them. I am quite smitten with mine, too.
But, please, for the love of God, take my word for it, your balls are causing you problems, too, buddy.
I am arranging–actually financing–a sharp metal instrument be applied to hack them off the base of your penis, tomorrow.
By this time tomorrow, you will have been restrained by humans in sterile, very scary uniforms who will wield a sharp knife and slice into the base of your dog cock and remove your testicles, depriving you of your' dogmanhood.
I have authorized and taken a command decision to cut your balls off of your ridiculous looking, incredibly smoochable 3 foot long 7 inch tall body, Wednesday, August 21, 2013.
Your personal De-B Day.
This gives me the profound heebie-jeebies and I want you to know that this hurts me more than it will hurt you.
That is the bad news.
The good news is we may soon be pardoned by the Dog Nazi's and, perhaps, regain unfettered access to your favorite place on the planet—the Dog Park.
The reason we now are on strict probation in the dog park and, now that I think of it, most other places inhabited by humans, is because of your balls.
Your balls are making you do dumb things.
You have a tendency to think with your balls. And they make you, at times, act goofy, causing you public embarrassment.
I know about these things, pal.
My balls have been known to contribute to me doing really, really dumb things, goofy things, things that make me look like an idiot.
Lately, Lamont pal, you have been doing some really dumb and goofy things, because of your balls, although I think the looking like an idiot stuff I still trump you on.
I know, I know. There is a very decided upside to having balls, too. They can be scrumptious and, God knows, they can make you feel good.
It really isn't fair that I have the power to remove your balls and you have exactly no power, whatsoever, under any remote circumstances, to even think about depriving me of mine. So just divorce yourself af any thoughts contrary to that.
Here is a partial list of things you won't do after I cut your balls off:
1/ Pee on the rug—repeatedly: With full knowledge it is really dumb and unnecessary and makes me yell at you. God know, you don't need to pee on the rug. I take you uncountable double digit walks a day, for Christ's Sake. You do that because of your balls, buddy
2/ Beat up other dogs 10 times the size of you: This never ends well. You are darn lucky you aren't dead. If you were a human, you would be in jail. Plus, invariably, I have to stick my hand in the middle of this ridiculousness to save your sorry butt and I then get bitten. Again, the lucky you aren't dead bit.
3/ The strutting around like you own the planet shtick. This really is not such a bad attitude. In fact, truth be told, I secretly like that about you—a lot. But you don't own the planet, buddy. For example, I know you don't like huge trucks driving by, really loud. But without your balls, you may not be under the delusion you can attack said trucks and win. You can't.
Your balls are sending you dangerous messages.
4/ This ridiculous habit you have to dominate everything else with a circulatory system. Like pinning other dogs to the ground because, well I have no idea because why. But you do. Or insisting that you sit on the top of the couch lording yourself over me while I am reading, just so you can be above me. That is quite goofy, pal. After all, you are 7 inches tall. I am 6 feet 2 inches tall. If you think you can dominate me, you are wrong.
That delusion is your balls talking. They are making you look goofy.
5/ Your balls are making you be quite confused about strategies for effective reproduction. Have you noticed how many people laugh at you when you try to hump a fetching young lass dog—by the head? That isn't how it works.
That is your balls talking. Frankly, you are embarrassing yourself.
So tomorrow we are going for a walk to the dog doctor to surgically remove your testicles. During this procedure, during this horrible process that requires me to have a double vodka just to pontificate on, your dog testes and testicular epididymi will be removed along with sections of your testicular blood vessels and spermatic ducts, otherwise known as vas deferens or ductus deferens.
The good news, buddy, is the remainder of your dog cock structures, including your prostate, urethra, penis, bulbis glandis, testicular blood vessels and spermatic ducts will be intact. Basically, that stuff that produces sperm and testosterone—vamoose! History! Sliced off of your incredibly cute but ridiculous looking self.
Really. It will be good for you, pal. And it will be good for the rest of the planet. The world might not survive another Lamont. It might qualify as a direct and present threat to world peace.
One of you is just perfect. Two of you might well be a threat to international stability.
I have scoped out where this abomination will be taking place. Mainly because it is immediately next door to Larry's Lounge.
You won't be in there for long. Less than an hour, buddy.
Meanwhile, I will be at Larry's Lounge. There, triple rail vodka's are 9 bucks a pop. I will need them immediately and copiously.
I suspect my bar bill will be bigger than your medical bill, pal.
Believe me, pal, I have no doubt I will suffer at least as much as you will during this unspeakable, angst inducing thing.
But your balls are a problem.
And don't even have the cheek to ask me: "What about your balls, Nate?"
That is why you are a mutt and I am a human. You don't get to ask those questions.
That is part of the deal, buddy. ■