Touch You Last

So I got hit in the crotch with the ball at last week’s soccer game, and it really got me thinking. It got me thinking that I don’t like getting hit in the crotch. No, actually (true as that is) it got me thinking about all the times I’ve taken a shot to the goods over the years. A little highlight reel played in my head on the drive home, and I haven’t quite shaken it since. So here, in chronological order, are the strongest crotch trauma memories I have: 1988 – This was the first time a girl just hoofed me right in the groin. It was Jen Crocker who did this to me. And I don’t really remember why (I probably said something sassy to her,) I only know that her junk-kicky reaction was a very disproportionate response. I also remember her turning to my friend Steve afterward and dismissing, “That didn’t hurt” as I lay there face down on floor. 1991 or 92 – We used to do all kinds of crazy shit on the school playground, and chief among my bag of tricks was walking across the top o...

I’m shutting that bad boy down as of today. Why? Because I don’t really use it anymore. Because I moved to Gmail long, long ago. And because the only people that this e-mail applies to are the Window’s Live Hotmail Team, and a collection of fancifully named people who are all interested in increasing the size of my organ. In semi-related news: as I logged on to Hotmail today for the first time in at least six months, I flashed back to the time I helped Blaine set up his first e-mail address, which happened to be on Hotmail. That address, in case you’re curious, was tugonmynuts@hotmail.com. That is all.

This is a picture of my Poppy McLean. I don't know how old this photo is, but I'd guess he's in his mid-twenties. That's a head of hair I never saw in my life. He was all bald and Ziggy-like long before I was born (and you can see a hint of that just starting in the photo). We borrowed this picture from my parents for a little project we're going to be working on (more on that later) and as you can see it wasn't in the best of shape. Rather than hanging on the wall or putting it up on the fireplace mantle, I think someone held it in their balled-up fist for the past sixty years. But then Photoshop came along and smeared awesome all over it. Scroll down to see the cleaned up picture. It wasn't push-button easy, but considering how frigged up the original was I definitely classify this clean up as Not Hard. It basically involved copying non-damaged, similar-looking parts of the photo and painting them overtop damaged parts (working at about 300x zoom). Th...