Galas and Genitalia

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Humor  |  House: Booksie Classic
What is truly a tragic story has been misread and mislabeled as a quirky, amusing tale. I assure you that the events within are anything but amusing. I hope you enjoy my suffering; God knows plenty of others have.

Submitted: September 10, 2009

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Submitted: September 10, 2009



There are two things in this world that I despise: galas and damaged genitals. Those are the two things I despise; there are several more things that I hate, and a couple more things which I loathe. However, this story that I plan on recounting only includes those in which I despise. Now, if you can relate to these subjects of my despisal, or if you simply want to hear about the destruction of a good man's life, then I implore you to read on.

There was a time, many years ago, that I truly believed in the human race. Me and my companion Toby would often discuss this with one another when we were in the presence of a particularly dull person or when we were playing with Toby's Playstation 3, the third in a line of video gaming consoles. We would talk until our mouths ran dry and our tongues begged rest; until our eyes would water and our ears bleed. These were good times; pleasant times, if you will; if you won't, then I fear there is no hope for you. I like to think of this period in my life as a time when I had my innocence. Toby had lost his innocence long ago, most likely when he was sexually assaulted by his childhood Labrador; but he humored me none-the-less. I like to think that the beginning of the end of this era occurred on the day that we received that mysterious invitation.

The day was June 7th, 2006. I remember this day, because the day before was 6-6-06, which I believed to be a very evil day. I mentioned this to Toby and asked if his wife would be returning to her throne in Hell, for I think of her as the devil. Toby chuckled at this and said that he hoped so. I then laughed myself after I realized just how sad a man Toby really was. However, it is not this day that's important, it is the day after. A realization you most assuredly came to at the beginning of this paragraph. It was on this day, this Wednesday of days, this pleasant, average, despicable excuse for a day, that I received my invitation to attend the 1st Annual Midsummer's Night Gala at the local discotheque. I asked Toby if he had ever been invited to a gala before, to which he responded by saying he's not important enough to be invited to a Gala. This elicited a hearty laugh from the both of us and a solitary tear from Toby. As the last of the giggles dribbled out between my sumptuous lips, I noticed that the invitation stated that I was allowed to bring a +1. “What luck!” I bellowed. “You shall be my +1!” A truer statement could not have been said, for exactly a month and eight days later, Toby and myself were entering the discotheque in our finest knit sweaters. Upon arrival we were informed that the gala was not for one week's time. I doubted the gentleman's allegation but I pleasantly obliged. Upon closer inspection of my invitation ticket, I discovered that the man was correct.

A week later, Toby and myself entered the discotheque in our second finest knit sweaters; we had not found the time to do the laundry from the week prior. When we entered the typically dimly lit and funk-filled auditorium, we discovered that it had been transformed into an elegant, brightly lit and mostly funkless gala hall. “Tell me Toby, do you plan on cheating on your wife tonight?” I asked him. I was trying to find out if he was accompanying me tonight as my wingman or as a potential double team partner. “Well I would,” he started, “But if my wife were ever to find out I'd probably never see my children again.” I felt a fiery irritation ignite in me when Toby released this statement. If there was one thing about Toby that annoyed me to no end, it was his shameless attempts to put a damper on things with self-pitying statements like that. If my parents hadn't raised me with such class, I no doubt would have open palm slapped him right then and there. “Wingman it is then.” I said with my eyes rolling hard enough to permanently impair my vision.

After our exchange, I looked around the room at all the attendees for the first time since we had arrived. What I saw intimidated me. The room was filled with the most handsome men and the most unfairly gorgeous women I had ever seen. They were very well groomed and well kept; dressed to the nines, some to the tens, and even to the elevens. I tried listening in on the occasional conversation, but their intellect made me feel as if I had just been beaten with a blunt object while trying to complete complex mathematical word problems. Their wit was so sharp that I attempted to avoid their flapping tongues out of fear that I would be lacerated. It was then, after I realized how much I probably resembled a common bumpkin, that I started to panic. I moved quickly around the room, desperately trying to find someone I could relate to, someone other then my melodramatic +1. My breathing became heavier and I started to sweat profusely. While this happened, it dawned on me how much the physical characteristics that a person takes on are very similar when one panics and when they participate in the act of fuck. I tried to focus on this thought to keep my mind off of the guests, and I quickly formed an erection. Now, ordinarily I would try to hide this public faux pas, and I certainly would have if the next thing I saw had been anything but the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Unfortunately the next thing I saw was precisely this.

She walked through the front doors with an air of dignity and the slightest hint of vulnerability. She had pantene enriched chestnut hair that was cut to a length that would have just barely covered her nipples had she been topless. Her eyes were a light, hazel brown that could have glared right through my considerable pectorals and straight into the depths of my heart if she ever took the time to glance. The skin she was sporting looked to be as smooth as silk, with a tone that was no doubt the source of envy for every beauty seeking cougar hussy that happened to be in the same vicinity as this goddess. Her ears were a bit weird.

I stood there, mouth agape, taking in this sight that I was seeing; and if my erection wasn't justified before, it certainly was now. I turned to see the reactions of everyone else in the ballroom, but was shocked to see that hardly a soul was paying attention to this creature of unspeakable beauty that had just graced us with her otherworldly presence. How spoiled these people must have been to just go about their ordinary routines when a female of this caliber walked amongst them. The women, I assumed, were ignoring her, and would continue to do so until she became ugly or until their insecurities melted away; the unlikely event of either of these happening within the course of a night seems so far fetched that I shouldn't even have to address it; alas, my pretentiousness is my one folly, for I can't resist stating the seemingly obvious simply to hear the sound of my own voice. Because of all this, I could understand the cold shoulders present on the women, but the men's obliviousness left me baffled. I was tempted to go around to every male in the room and give their members a tug just to see if there was anything worth noting between those impressively muscular legs that most of them had. After the initial shock of observing everyone's indifference, I searched the room for Toby, who was nowhere to be found. I assumed he had seen this uberwoman, and had retreated to the public restrooms, or as he referred to them in an instance such as this, “the masturbatory quarters”.

I remained rooted to the spot where I first saw the chestnut-haired woman, my heart being pulled back in forth in an ethereal, slightly nauseating tug of war between my mind and my testosterone fueled sex parts. After a consistently arousing ten minutes of watching this woman glide around the room, I decided my penis was right all along, I simply had to go speak with this beauty.

Often times, upon coming to a definite decision which I've made internally, I will speak aloud my decision for no other reason then to add dramatic effect. I do this when I'm alone as well as when I'm surrounded by peers. A number of people can testify to this, including Toby himself, who has heard me declare my intentions to evacuate my bowels on more then one occasion. This occasion was no different; not in the sense that I needed to evacuate my bowels, but that I needed to state my decision aloud. When I spoke, I was under the impression that these relentlessly ostentatious socialites were too caught up in performing self-fellatio to take notice of anything that I may have to say. Much to my surprise, I was answered with a firm tap on my left shoulder when I stated my plans to, “make such sweet love to her that she will be left unsatisfied by every man who is with her after me.” I turned to see who had been audacious enough to bring my sexual exploits to a halt before they could even truly start. What I found was a small, pale skinned man, with rodent like features who easily had the most punchable face I had ever seen aside from Toby's. He stared into my face, and mine back at his. I made sure to stare at the center of his unibrow to avoid looking directly into his eyes; their eerie blackness burrowing into the deepest recesses of my confused mind. I expected his pissant little mouth to open, only to be followed by a screeching wail of contempt. Instead, the man just shook his head, keeping his eyes locked onto mine while he did it. Needless to say, after five minutes of this, I became a little uncomfortable. Relief swept through me when he took his hand off of my shoulder and began walking away.

I was just about to go searching for Toby when I noticed where the man was headed. I watched in horror as this weasel man made his way over to the chestnut haired woman. He sauntered closer and closer to her, walking with an obnoxiously cocky stride. His chest looked to be puffed out to the limits of his considerably feeble ribcage, and the arrogance emanating off of him was almost palpable; I could practically hear his testicles knocking together as he closed in on her; and after what felt like a heart wrenching lifetime, he reached this gorgeous woman. Now, if what he had just done to me was his way of putting me in my place, what happened next must have been his way of using my heart as a toilet and my hopes and dreams as his toilet paper. He began to kiss the chestnut-haired woman. He kissed her hard and he kissed her long. It was, to be quite frank, one of the more disgusting public displays of affection I had encountered since I woke up in my bed once before to find two strangers making vigorous love on top of me. Was I supposed to believe that this tiny, repulsive excuse for a man, had enough charisma and chutzpah to approach any woman he desired and engage her in an interlocking of lips and tongues? I absolutely refused to believe this! However, when they finished their sloppy business, they began talking with one another and I noticed something; something so implausible and so maddening that if I focused too much brain power on it, a hemorrhage would have surely occurred. Through an expert, scrutinizingly proficient study of their body language and their general rapport with one another, I was able to deduce that these two mismatched beings were in fact, a couple.

As I filled up with the embarrassment and rage that can only be attributed to the most thoroughly offended, the blood evacuated my penis and rushed into my face so fast, that I thought I had lost my most valuable piece for a couple terrifying seconds. With unnerving speed, my hand shot down to check on my package, and was relieved when it grasped it in all of its robust glory. I looked up, remembering why I had touched myself in the first place, and stared straight into the black eyes of the rodent man. He was looking over at me while speaking to the woman who had been the cause of all of this in the first place. It was as if she were the central character in a Shakespearean play. All of the elements were there: The unrequited love, the shrew that needed taming, the tragic ending, her heaping bosoms. I thought of Toby, and for the first time in my life, I envied him. He may have been alone, and he may have been pleasuring himself in a public restroom, but this was enough for Toby. He's not a hard man to please and at least his minimal amount of joy was consistent at the moment. The night had been an emotional rollercoaster for me, and rather unsurprisingly, it was about to get worse.

I realized how desperately I craved a drink, and proceeded to grab the closest one to me; it happened to be a glass of milk from a recently deserted table to my left. But before I could raise the glass to my cracked lips and allow the maternal elixir within to flow over my tongue and down my longing throat, I noticed the rodent man and the chestnut beauty were now starting to point in my direction. I only began to understand the circumstances I had bestowed upon myself when I noticed the dour grimace that formed upon the once pleasant visage of this woman that I so coveted. It would seem that her rat faced suitor had been recounting a rather unpleasant story to her; I could venture a guess as to what that may be. However, I was incorrect, for she had no interest in participating in a menage a trois with the rodent and myself; both a disappointment and a relief. He was actually explaining the exceptionally inappropriate statement I had previously declared regarding her.

I watched, glass of milk in hand, as they began making their way over to me. The rodent, with woman in tow, was walking with his aforementioned cocky stride on full display. He would have made a good fashion model if his face hadn't been such an abomination. An overwhelming urge came over me to play the coward card and make a mad dash towards the doors. After a very brief internal struggle I decided that a respectable man should stand his ground; a decision that would have been quite different if these two were not standing between the exit and myself. My eyes darted between the two of them as I took a sip of my milk and discovered that it was whole; a minuscule bright spot in an otherwise depressing evening.

Both were glaring at me when they arrived. They stood approximately two feet in front of me, their eyes daring me to make a move. I decided to break the tension with my genial wit: “What the fuck do you want?” I offered. They stared in disbelief before the rodent opened his mouth to speak. “I'll tell you what I want. I want you to tell Margaret here exactly what I heard you say before.” I felt as if this was an unfair proposition. “Well I think it's fairly obvious that I never would have said those things had I known her name was Margaret,” I started, “Everyone knows that that name is reserved for elderly women and the amish. I apologize that I mistook your mistress for someone who I would actually find attractive.” Now, had I known that they would take such offense to this apology, I would certainly have reworded it. However, I found nothing wrong with it then and find nothing wrong with it now. When I saw the rodent begin to shake with rage and the tears forming in the woman's eyes, I realized that they must have misunderstood me. I quickly tried to correct things, “No, no, no, you ignoramus. I'm saying this woman here is probably too much of a terrible bitch for my taste. I'm saying I don't find her attractive at all.” I extended my hand so that we could shake on this newfound truce we had agreed upon, only to have him slap it away. I recoiled at this inexplicable hostility. I held my wounded hand up to my equally wounded face and began to lightly kiss it, much like Toby would have done had the damn fool been there to comfort me.

They were angry, there was no getting around that. Any hopes that I would be able to make a diplomatic and pleasant recovery were dashed when the rodent man threw his drink into my face. I would not have been too bothered by this had he not thrown the glass with it, which promptly shattered upon reaching my dumbfounded face. “This man has crossed a line.” I thought as glass and blood and brandy and sweat and tears poured over my eyes and mouth. Through everything that was dripping from me, I was able to see the crowd forming around this altercation that had started between me and the rodent. “No matter how sophisticated a person may be, they will never pass up an opportunity to see shit get fucked up.” Winston Churchill is the man behind that quote, and I could certainly see what he was getting at now.

I refused to let this human monstrosity make a fool of me in front of these pretentious spectators; so I offered my rebuttal. “Well sir, two can play at that game.” I quickly walked up to him, put one of my legs behind his, and pushed him so he tripped over it and was left laying face up on the ground. I stood over him and let the viscera from my face drip its way down into his open mouth. “I'm typically not a fighter my good man.” I told him in a tone that was filled with charm but with undertones of something much more diabolical. “But it seems as though you have brought out the worst in me. And if you think that your face now is the result of some cruel joke brought upon you by God, just wait until I add my own artistic flourish to it.” And with that, I delivered the coup de grace, by spiking my glass of milk onto his unsuspecting face.

There was an audible gasp from the crowd followed by silence. We were all watching the man on the ground rolling from side to side with his hands over his face. He had been shrieking when it first happened, but now he was emitting an odd, wookie like noise that I considered to be slightly more disturbing then the shrieking. After several painfully awkward minutes of this, his chestnut beauty spoke up, “He's lactose intolerant you fuck!” Upon hearing her voice, I had no option but to fall in love with her again. She must have had vocal cords formed from the strings of Hermes' lyre itself. I gazed into her angelic, unwavering eyes as she started to walk towards me. I remember thinking to myself that this was it, this dream that I had created five minutes ago was finally coming true. I leaned forward to greet this woman's sensual lips with my own, but was instead greeted with the hardest kick I had ever received, directed straight into my genitals.

I wasn't entirely sure what had just happened to me at first. I recall the lower half of my body being completely numb, and the milk I had sipped before had been regurgitated out onto my second favorite sweater. I could hear Toby somewhere off in the crowd of elitist bovines screaming my name. “Oh Toby, if only you had been here for me, it might have been your testicles instead of mine.” I thought before the pain was able to manifest itself within me.

They say that the moment before you expire, you experience your life flashing right in front of your eyes. I had a similar experience that night, only instead of my life flashing before my eyes, it was the team statistics for the 1987 Houston Oilers. Inexplicable as it may have been, it could have been far worse; they did place second in their division after all. After this blatant evidence of writer's block, the pain suddenly ripped through the entirety of my body. I felt like a satchel of spoiled, wet meat that had been struck by the hottest and greasiest of lightnings. “BITCH!” I managed to relay before I dropped face first onto the cold, unwelcoming floor. The last thing I remember before I was swallowed by the blackness that had started to form, was Toby's voice getting closer and closer until it sounded as if he was standing right on top of me. Knowing Toby's general lack of common sense and manners, he probably was.

I awoke a short time later to a sharp burning in my lower gut; the source: My genitalia. I had been turned on my back and my trousers had been completely removed; I spotted an elderly man in the crowd wearing them. Toby was standing off to the side discussing a seemingly important issue with a rather small child, and the chestnut beauty was leaning over her rodent lover, weeping and speaking to him in a soothing voice. “What's going on here.” I croaked as I started to get back onto my feet. Everyone's bloodthirsty eyes quickly fixated on me and my crotch. “Toby, do you have any sort of explanation you care to offer as to why my pants are now being worn by this older gentleman here?” Toby explained what had taken place since I had fallen unconscious. Apparently he had ripped my pants off upon hearing the location of my injury, he had then proceeded to cup and squeeze my damaged genitals; a task I would trust a doctor with, which Toby certainly was not, regardless of how many Holiday Inn Selects he may have stayed at. “I'm afraid I have some rather unpleasant news to give you my friend.” He told me. “One of your balls got mashed into mush.” Upon hearing this, the world around me as I knew it ceased to exist, at least for the time being. I could feel my heart sinking lower and lower as I let the words settle in. “One ball?” I asked aloud to no one in particular. I thought of all the moments I had shared with my testicles over the years: the first time I noticed them when I had reached puberty, all the times I had pretended they were Gonzo the muppet's eyes, dipping them into Toby's cereal when he was being lambasted by his wife. All of these moments would forever be twice as fun as anything similar I may do with my testicle in the future. It didn't seem fair that I had to lose one of my fellows while someone like Hitler never lost any of his. “There is one more thing you should know.” Toby said; he then moved in so close to my ear that the inner canal was being tickled by his wispy moustache when he spoke, “That man whose face you destroyed is the mayor, that woman is his wife. You'll be had for this one friend.”

I appreciated Toby telling me this, but he didn't seem to realize that the information he had just given me regarding my manhood takes precedence over anything that he might ever say in the future. I would have been genuinely concerned had I been wearing a cup or had I been a eunuch. However, I am a man, and with that title comes a certain prestige, a prestige that ceases to exist once my testicles cease to exist. I had decided what needed to be done as soon as Toby informed me of my plight.

I gingerly stepped over to the mayor and his wife. When I reached them I promptly pulled the woman up so she was face to face with me. I glanced down at her husband and saw what effect my action had caused. His intolerance for lactose had caused his face to swell to the size of a very large face. Did I feel regret? No, he had started it and I'm not a man to back down from a duel. I turned my attention back to the woman in front of me. I glared into her eyes, unaffected by their beauty. Now I would never hit a woman, it just simply isn't my style, so instead I spit directly into her eye. Her hand shot up and her head flew back. She let out a howl that would have raised my testicles had I not just been given the Lance Armstrong treatment. I backed away while she continued to do her best imitation of the cthulhu. Everyone who had been watching now seemed to be losing their minds. People were running around in circles, some were fighting other patrons, several were screaming as loud as they could, calling for help or demanding police action.

I backed up to Toby who had been standing motionless the whole time. He was staring at the woman who was still howling and writhing. I realized that I don't thank him for being there for me enough. “Toby, I wanted to let you know that I appreciate your help and concern regarding my well being. You are a true friend.” I told him. Now it was his turn, “That means a lot to me to hear you say that, I always knew we were the best of....” Toby was cut off then because the woman began screaming and running towards where we were standing. Upon seeing this I grabbed Toby and forced him in front of me to protect me from whatever it was she was planning to do. Apparently she was planning on punching me rather hard, because that is what she did to Toby. His head whipped to the right as spittle and blood flew all over the nearby patrons. He immediately fell to the ground, out cold. Toby never could take a punch.

I would be lying to you if I said I remembered what happened next in great detail. Everything sort of blurs together. I remember reaching into Toby's pocket and grabbing his keys, fleeing the gala, and driving myself home. I must have taken some of his money as well because I distinctly recall stopping at a Burger King. I reached my home and fell into a deep, pleasant sleep. The next morning I turned on the Channel 9 news and saw the fiasco that had happened the night before was being reported on. The police had arrived after I left and they arrested Toby. The mayor and his wife were taken to the hospital where they were expected to make a full recovery.

That night was, to say the least, a very eye opening experience. It made me realize how unfriendly people could be by nature. It turned me off from the notion that we are all ultimately good people. Now I hardly ever leave my home and when I do it's only because I need to eat and make people feel bad by staring at them in an angry fashion. I would be wrong, however, if I said every single person has evil tendencies; Toby for instance, never gave the police officers my name. He had to serve some jail time for the crimes of assault and battery, public spitting, and public exposure; apparently someone had happened upon him in his masturbatory quarters. So overall, everything ended rather pleasantly for everyone. Though there are certain mysteries I feel will never be solved; such as who sent me that gala invitation in the first place or why is my name never mentioned throughout this entire tale. There are plenty to be sure, but only a couple that I really care about. Now if you'll excuse me, I'm going to go write the final draft of this and post it on Booksie.

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