Friday, September 2, 2016

The Bottom Surgery (Not The Good Kind)

"I found a good surgeon for my bottom surgery," Pat said.

"Oh?" I said fearfully.

"Yeah." Pat stood up and started to helpfully gesture at his groin. "He's going to put my nuts here. But not too low. Most surgeons lengthen the clitoris and put the nuts down here... But you can't sit on a bicycle then."


I stared at Pat's waist, not knowing where exactly to put my line of vision. I didn't want to look directly at his invisible balls, but it seemed rude not to admire them.

"Anyway, my nuts will be about here..." Pat karate-chopped at his V. "And that will mean my clit will be short here and pulled out, which is fine. It won't look so weird then. Some doctors will stitch up the opening, but that can lead to complications. So my penis will be this flap of clit, and the balls will be pretty small. It'll look like balls on a really cold day ha ha."

"Yes. Ha ha."

"I didn't want the phalloplasty. You know, the Frankenweenie. That's where they take parts of your arm skin and mold it around a tube to make a penis. I didn't want that. So my clit will get lengthened here, and the balls attached..."

I shivered. "Okay," I said. "Uh... by the way, you didn't give me closure on that anecdote the other day about beating up that guy selling cigarettes to the little kid...?"

Pat sat down again. (Whew.) "Yeah, I made sure the guy got the message..."

"So did you just go into the place and punch the guy, and then leave?"

"No, no. I took him outside."

"Oh, that's good."

"Yeah, it's this little place on the corner, just a shop where I buy my malt liquor forties and tobacco. So the guy knew me. And he knew the little boy he was selling cigarettes to. He's only nine years old! It's fucked up. I don't care if the kid was buying the cigarettes for his grandma with the putrefying diabetic foot, the guy just can't do that!"


"So I just went in and I clapped my hand on the back of his neck and walked him outside." Pat again stood up to demonstrate. "I told him I knew what he was doing and then I punched him HARD!!--" Pat swung his fist-- "Punched him right in his fat stomach and I went off. He got the message, the asshole."

"Right. But aren't you afraid he might press charges?"

"No. He wouldn't. He was the one breaking the law."


I opened our Latin textbook to begin the lesson, but Pat suddenly got up again. He put his phone in the other room.

"It was heating up. It was warm in my hand. That's always a sign that Dad is listening in."

"Your dad...?"

"Yes, he's been monitoring my texts and phone calls. And he listens in through the phone. Whenever it heats up like that, I know he's listening."

"Mm. Okay. Now the fifth declension is--"

"I especially don't want him to know that I've been writing lately."

"That's great," I said. "What are you writing?"

"I haven't actually written anything yet. But I'm working on a pen name. What do you think of P. D. Ferris? But I want more oomph in the name. I need more numbers. The r's are 9's, so that's a good letter to have, but the others need a better number. I don't know if I believe in numerology, but it can't hurt. I want all the help I can get. So I want a name with good numbers in it. I have a list I've been playing around with..."

"That must be it," I muttered, "my name has no oomph."

Pat looked over a sheet of paper scribbled with names. "I don't want my real name out there because people will google it and find out my previous identity, and I don't want that."

"It's almost like you're a superhero."

"Yeah... a superhero." Pat sat lost in thought for a moment. "Do you think I should have my nuts lower? I can't decide."

"Whatever will fit in a codpiece. I think Batman keeps his high and tight."

I told Pat I'd put the question to my blog audience: Pat's nuts, high or low? Frankenweenie, yes or no?? VOTE NOW!! GET INVOLVED, PEOPLE!!


  1. How about compromise? One high and one low. Can't they do half frankenweenie and half not?

  2. I vote Frankenweenie, don't care about the balls, just no mustard.