What Is It With That Guy, Stucco Anyway?

Many people seek explanations from me about how I became and why I am the way I am. To these people I usually plead the fifth and move along, but from time to time I indulge thier curiosity. I once asked a man named Travis Shakespeare how he ended up the way he was, an he answered in a booming voice common to stage actors "I am this way [dramatic pause] as a result of arguing with tuk-tuk drivers in Thailand!" I always liked that answer, but am loathe to rip off such a cool motherfucker.

Here's my daily stab at a self-realized neo-hippy bullshit explanantion: I'm an openly perverted, pleasantly vulgar, overly observant and disinterested gimp of a man. Gimp? Yes, gimp. I'm wounded. Schmoopie posted a day-1 pic of the damage that's visible, but things have blossomed since then. She took and posted a day-3 pic, that also featured my filthy nutsack, to the horror of the world (since removed). Now, I've written about my nutsack before in gory details, and am far from bashful (although perhaps I should be, now that I'm so far past my prime), but if I wanted pictures of my package on the net, I would NOT want them anywhere near this god foresaken bruise. You know- I'd want favorable lighting and all...

I am however, the sort of man that will go into the handicapped stall of the bathroom at work, and drop my pants, hike my hula girl underpants, and take a picture of myself with my phone, and post the picture online. It's not pretty- this isn't the soft lighting that would be suitable for genital photography. It's the harsh drunk-tank, toilet at the gas station kind of lighting that amplifies shock and horror. Consider yourself warned (plus, the bruise is really gross too).

Click here to see the cruelty.