Working Blue

Today, I overheard a snide remark from an overloud conversation in the coffee shop. The person staring out the window was presumably on a phone, although I could see no device and cannot be certain there was anyone on the other end. At any rate, the thing that popped out was said with great certainty and derision. ‘Men don’t get ‘blue balls!’

And it shocked me.

I pulled back from my reading, shook my head and looked over. Mind you, this was a complete stranger. But I had a powerful urge to insert myself and warn all parties involved about the truth of this very real, dangerous and corrupting condition.

It’s important not to get lost in a debate about blood flow and whether or not the testicles actually turn “blue.” The word is a poor choice in describing the affliction. The fact is: the brain chemistry of the male, around or about the penultimate, is undeniably in an altered state. He is far beyond inarticulate. He cannot string words and barely registers information. He must not drive or operate heavy equipment and by law should wear an odd hat so that all others can avoid him. His brain lives in a supercritical state flashing between gelatinous goo and some sort of boiling gas. How long it persists is anyone’s guess but mix it with alcohol or other stimulants and you have on your hands a veritable shit train of tragedy, despair and perversion. The roads leading to and from “Gentleman’s Clubs” are perilous at any hour but after midnight one would have better odds of safe travel crawling through a gater-infested sewer.

Consider also, that not all Valentine’s Day celebrations end well, no matter how thoughtfully prepared. Angry, distraught and thoroughly distracted individuals are on the roads. The New Year’s crowd is far more predictable.

Even the eponymous saint of this day orders food delivered tonight.

Author: Prometheus

Move along. There is nothing to see here. Go back to your lives citizens. The show is over.