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Don Jack: My Poem About My Housemate's Testicles

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These are the first two cantos in my epic poem about how small ScarecrowJack's balls are. I hope you enjoy them.


My friend, old Jack, has testes rather small,
Too small, in fact; I prithee not to laugh.
Shouldst thou find Jack inside a shopping mall,
Some paper buy and ask his autograph!
His balls combined are like a single ball,
If single's meant to mean a single half.
His countenance would turn a reddish hue,
Wert thou to ask him kindly to show you.

He keeps them in a pocket made for mice.
That is, if mice is meant to mean three ants.
And even so, although they fit him nice,
Jack's moans are heard: "Too much air in my pants!"
Indeed, were not his balls like grains of rice,
I'd not be so familiar with his rants!
His cock hath nothing to support its weight,
What mean gods would wish him such ill fate?

And why indeed should balls be so minute
In one whose lionly courage know'th no bound?
Apart from this unfort'nate attribute,
Jack is the manliest of men around!
He's battled Titans like a savage brute
And scared the howls out of Hell's own hound!
But still, his balls do shame him every day
And there is nothing I can do or say.

I took my friend the small balled Jack to see
A doctor, one who's honest and astute,
A man I'd reckon has integrity
(No never can they give him ill repute)
And certain qualities I think in men are key,
Like patience and the gift of play'ng the lute.
This doctor, then, did Jack and I attend,
In hope that our small problem could he mend.

Alas this man on whom we'd put our faith
Could nothing do about Jack's testicles.
"So small are they, Jack! They are like a wraith,
I see them but at once am skeptical!"
O sorrow! When a man such judgement layeth,
The shame Jack casts on his receptacles
Is multiplied a millionfold at once
And small balled Jack is left to feel a dunce.

"I can't" (said Doc) "in honesty compare
These testicles to any earthly thing;
They on occasion pop up here and there,
And yet upon a single blink - nothing!"
I told the doctor such words were unfair,
But he was thrown to fits of snickering:
"Such balls do make a man recall his joy
At seeing his own balls grow as a boy!"

Jack wept and swore he never would have come,
Had I not said great things about this man
Who now sat laughing on his ample bum,
And saying, "Even midgets from Japan
Have bigger balls than you, my poor old chum!"
I took a breath and then began to scan
The room for something pointy, sharp and small;
I wished to kill this doctor, after all!

Yet Jack, who knew me, told me not to fret:
"Let live this beastly soul," he said to me,
And after pulling out a cigarette,
He said, "Such monstrous men do make humanity.
We, pure of heart, are few and cannot let
The big balled horde demean our dignity."
How wise is Jack! How sure within himself!
And truth be told, I think for him I fell.

Tell no one! But, 'tis true, I am in love
With Jack, the boy whose balls are cold and slight.
I know not what the gods do plan above,
But homosexuality's my plight,
Yet lest I see someday that peaceful dove,
I'll hide my nature and keep up the fight
To have Jack's balls accepted by all men
By Greek and Jew, poet and thespian.


Our Jack was born in Spain, not long ago,
An heir to naught, yet educated well.
His mother was a nasty virago,
For whom the devil kept a place in Hell.
She shamed her son and fed him yellow snow;
A pranking sort, she tripp'd him; oft he fell.
Indeed most rueful was Jack's distant past;
Thank God! He left for school abroad at last.

'Twas there, in England, where I first met Jack.
We bonded o'er trips to a gallery.
He read me Goethe, munching on a snack,
While I slurp'd milkshakes, quoting Valery.
He dared the French romantics to attack;
In turn I ridiculed his Mallory.
In short, although our conflicts caused a storm,
We forged a friendship quite beyond the norm.

Say what thou wilt of Jack's small scrotal bells,
The lad is gifted quite beyond compare.
His tongue is quick, and every joke he tells
Will cause a man at last to speak a prayer:
"Please God, do end this endless laughing spell!"
(For laughing hard can give the heart a scare,
Since Man is unaccustom'd to the joy
That comes when he starts chuckling like a boy!)

Forsooth, with women Jack was not as bless'd.
In fact, although I have no proof at hand,
I doubt sincerely Jack's ever caress'd
A female on this earth, ne'er mind this land!
Indeed virginity's left Jack distressed,
Since balls so small aren't likely to expand.
You cannot take a man's virginity
If past the cock, all is obscurity.

Yet when we met, I understood at once
That Jack was not deterred by circumstance.
He knew one day he'd marry, through God's bunce,
'Til then he'd dance a solitary dance.
He'd charm the hearts of women with his puns,
And someday turn friendship into romance.
No, not despondent he! Jacques l'optimiste!
And yet poor Jack had never e'en been kissed...

Oh never mind! Let gods do what they want.
If they must give a man deformity,
Then such a man, though doomed to jeer and taunt,
Must fight to find some femininity!
For every soul the gods do choose to haunt
Can through such pain attain eternity!
Indeed, should suffering end, our Lord
Would up in Heaven be so very bored.

But I digress, the point I've tried to make
Is that despite his kindness and his wit,
Old Jack had never been much of a rake:
He could not suck a buxom maiden's tit,
Nor next to beauty in the morn awake.
He bragged but could not fool me, I'll admit,
For in his manner I saw well betrayed
The insecurity of those not laid.

Back then, of course, I too was innocent.
The farthest I had got was with my hand.
And yet I was composed and confident,
For Mommy told me I was handsome, and
Unlike Jack's mother, mine was heaven-sent.
She cared for me and made me understand
That though our urges make us what we are,
As soon as love is made, love turns bizarre.

No matter. Love is altogether strange,
The poets, even Pindar, would agree.
Aspire, my soul, to that which is in range
Instead of reaching for infinity!
Such worldly wisdom's truth shall never change,
So heed good Pindar, learn his words. You'll see,
The more you learn the art of thinking clear,
The less you'll ask for what is not right here.

Exhaust the possibilities around!
Let love come at its pace and do not rush,
For opportunities in sex abound,
But they can leave you with disease, or thrush,
Or heartache, choler, the gaining of ten pounds.
Do not seek love if love will only crush
Your hopes of knowing how to be alone,
Content between thin skin and shallow bone.

Poor Jack, he knew not how good solitude
Is sometimes better than poor company.
He fantasized about things rather lewd,
And in his head he found himself many
Fair maidens, all of whom were very nude.
In dreams he ne'er spent e'en a halfpenny,
No buying drinks or flirting, only sex.
Such fancies make us into nervous wrecks.

One day, his mother sent a note by post,
A letter brief and rather to the point:
"Thou art my son, I love thee, whereas most
Would run from thee. Yet still, to disappoint
Me seem'st thou quite intent; and I can't boast
Of my dear son's success, thus I appoint
Thy good friend Phil as master of thy life.
Entreat him, please, to find thee a nice wife."

Embarrassment? Nay, Jack felt only bliss,
For not in years had Mother sent a card!
'Twas true, she could have been less mean than this,
But damn'd be manners, true love's always hard.
He made me read the note, and after this
He jumped around with joy, poor tub of lard!
He said: "Together we shall find a perfect girl
And make her mine alone in all the world!"

I must admit to feeling awkward, then.
For how's a boy to rise to such a task?
I was myself a virgin, and my zen
Was mostly feigned; I wore a tranquil mask
To hide my burning lust, which like a pen
Required wetting, in woman's ink to bask.
To put it short, I knew not how to tell
My good friend Jack that I was pure as well.

We left for Greece together, he and I,
For in a postscript, Jack's mum had let spill
That though barbaric, Greeks were to the eye
As sweet as nectar to the buds. "Oh, Phil!"
Said Jack, as though he were about to cry,
"We'll find find a girl in Greece, or better still,
We'll find a wife for me and one for you,
And bring them back to England, like swine flu!"

"Dear Jack," I said, once we were on the ship,
"You realize, of course, that you can't choose
With whom you'll form a sweet relationship!
Some women are as bitter as lime juice,
Rejecting all advances with a whip.
You must be patient; try to love the cruise
As much as you love thoughts of happiness.
For only then can you enjoy success."

"Oh Phil! Dear Phil! Sweet Phil!" said Jack with joy,
"You cannot know how happy I am made!
For though my balls be small like beans of soy,
You've filled my heart with songs of sweet escape!
Yes, someone's waiting in the land of Troy,
For me and my poor shrivel'd scrotal shape.
I will enjoy the journey; after all,
I fear no pirates, tempest, shark or squall!"

And as the ship departed from the land,
I looked behind me and I knew for sure
That even if Jack's balls did growth demand,
His love of life would readily ensure
That no matter the hardship, we would stand
Together like two roses in manure,
Forever bound by our virginity,
The foremost reason for fraternity.