The Live Show

What has been seen cannot be un-seen.

In case you haven’t noticed, I’m kind of an asshole. Why else would I make it possible for visitors to my site to anonymously tell people they’re fat? Part of my assholish nature involves regularly experiencing schadenfreude, which is finding entertainment or joy in another’s suffering.

For example, I love watching some low-pants, multiple-pierced, punk-ass skateboarder trying to ride a rail only to bag himself back to the stone age. In my opinion that’s natural selection in action: stupid person does stupid thing which puts his reproductive future in jeopardy and the species is better off for it.

It’s also why I like the Jackass films. I enjoy watching morons hurt themselves, although in this case they are exceptionally wealthy morons, which makes the whole issue of just how stupid they really are debatable.

I do have a line though. I don’t like everything they do in those movies. There is a scene in Jackass Number Two where Johnny Knoxville gets made up like an old man with a fake pair of old man testicles hanging out of his short shorts and getting in people’s faces with them.

I didn’t like that. Like I already wrote, I have a line, and that crossed it.

Allow me to leave old man testicles behind for a moment to go off on a more pleasant tangent. As you may know, I work out at my alma mater’s gym where the average age is in the 18 to 25 range, and some of the female members are a delight for young men’s eyes to behold. These are known as the hoop earring girls.

You’ll note that I wrote “young” men’s eyes. To be honest, I’m really starting to feel too old for the place. Hoop earrings girls don’t do much for me anymore.

Anyway, a few weeks ago one came in who put all others to shame. I won’t go into excessive detail describing her, but I will tell you that just about every male head and half the female ones turned as she pranced into the gym towards one of the elliptical trainers. I will admit that she caught my attention for a second, although by comparison to the more hormonal exercisers present I practically ignored her. I stole a glance then went to the other side of the gym to use a cable pulldown.

About 20 minutes later I passed by her again and had to laugh at how she had star stuck many of the young male patrons. She was working the elliptical hard, her arms pumping back and forth, and this was causing an interesting phenomenon where her breasts moved in a “figure 8” motion. I took another quick glance using the mirror, but the younger fellows with far less shame than I stared and drooled. I’ve spent enough time in gyms to have developed a sense of etiquette about such situations, and found it comical that she could seemingly ignore the effect she was having on these guys. I remember being 20. I remember being a dumb ass. I guess I could forgive them their lack of tact.

Now I don’t want it to seem like I’m completely immune to the effects of an attractive woman. My wife and I have been together for 20 years and I’m a very happily married man, but I’m not neutered either. I just have been around long enough to have my hormones under control. Truth be told, I thought she was hot even though she was half my age. Let’s just say the quick glance I took left a pleasing image in my brain and leave it at that.

Then that pleasing image got destroyed. Remember the old man testicle gag I mentioned earlier? Well, I got the live show.

Every time I go to the gym I spend a few minutes at the beginning and end of my session doing cobra stretches (like a pushup that keeps the hips planted on the floor) as physiotherapy for my low back because the motion pushes the disc goo back where it belongs.

Because my gym is at a university there are also a number of older professorial patrons. One such gentleman who looked to be approaching mandatory retirement age had his feet facing me while I did my stretches. He was wearing short shorts.

Then I saw it: a testicle.

Yuck.

I’ve been in plenty of change rooms and seen plenty of testicles and never taken issue with it, but it’s a matter of context. In a locker room you’re prepared for such a thing, but because I was in the gym my mind rebelled at what I saw. All thoughts of hoop earring girl were instantly purged by the horror.

I firmly shut my eyes, but after several seconds I succumbed to that same phenomenon that compels people to ogle the carnage from a massive car wreck; I looked again.

His position had changed. I saw the other one. Damn, damn, damn.

I wanted to stab hypodermics full of Liquid Drano into my eyes to burn out the image, but I knew it was there to stay. As I wrote at the beginning of this tale, what has been seen cannot be un-seen. Three weeks later the image still haunts me, so I thought that sharing my story might help me come to terms with the trauma I suffered so I can get past it.

Well, it hasn’t. I feel just as shitty as ever.

On second thought, misery loves company, so hopefully you have an image of old man balls in your mind now too. That would make me feel better.

Ah, sweet shadenfreude.

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