Scrotology
Every so often, I sense something deep within my scrotae.
A vibration. A vision. A deep premonition.
Somewhere between Mistress Cleo, Kreskin and wut JoeyPorsche’s dic did, I sense a future event before it happens.
Some call it a sixth sense. Others call it a rash on my sack that needs medical attention. I call it Spiritual Scrotology, the mystical art of predicting the future based on scrotal sensation.
Gazing at this Starbucks latte drinking punk Starpunk and his rather sexy if slightly plump senorita, my vibrating scrotum speaks to me. It tells me that her daddy wasn’t quite as threatened by Starpunk as she’d hoped. My scrotum vibrates some more. I see her mind wandering. Wondering if Lanny, the class whippit-head, would perhaps piss daddy off more than Starpunk.
And the answer comes to me by way of scrotal oscillation. Starpunk and senorita hung out another ten minutes, In awkward silence. Before she told him, “You smell like pee, Starpunk. I, uh, gotta go.”
And hark. Scrotology sees the future once again.
