I never thought I'd envy a Ken doll, but....

I am writing today's BOBservation through clenched teeth and repressed tears. No, I am not saddened by the autopsy results of the Big Bopper (seriously, wtf?? he's been dead for like 50 years), I am sucking it up and giving YOU the reader(s?) what you desire. What am I sucking up you might ask?....my dignity, my manhood, and the pain emanating from my C*ck. Why is there pain in my beef bus? Sit back and relax children....its story time:

Around 5:00 pm central standard time today, your favorite 1st Lieutenant (select) was at the Pope AFB gym engaging in his daily workout routine. Today was "shoulders and abs" and midway through the weight room session of the workout, I began to do "upright flys" to better tone my upper shoulder muscles.

*Now, for those of you who aren't familiar with "upright flys" you need to understand that this exercise involves two dumbbells, one in each hand, being held around the belt area, pressed together. Once the dumbbells (in this instance 25lbs) are in place, you lift the weights by both shrugging your shoulders and doing a sort of reverse butterfly flapping motion. After the weights are lifted to their full extent, they are lowered back down towards the belt buckle and the motion is repeated. *

Well it doesn't take the foresight of Ray Charles to see that all of this raising and lowering, and separating and rejoining of these two weights within close proximity to my genitalia is a recipe for disaster. I was on the 15th of my 15 repetition set when I began to struggle. I pushed and pushed until finally I was able to raise the dumbbells one last time to their apex. Victorious, I sighed, relaxed, and returned the weights to their initial position (near my 21st digit). However, it is here where everything went terribly wrong. My extra pushing had left me in an exhausted state, and caused a sudden loss of situational awareness with regard to the control of my workout utensils. Like a castrating, fem-nazi, pendulum of sterilization, my arms flailed OUT OF CONTROL leading the two 25 pounders on a hopeless collision course of death towards my bilbo baggins. I tried to stop it, but it was too late, and I watched in horror as roughly 500 lbs per square inch of pressure pinched down on the outward, most sensitive 1/4 inch of my chief of staff.

Here is a list of things LESS PAINFUL than what I experienced:

Child birth (ladies I DON'T EVEN WANT TO FUCKING HEAR IT)

Being lit on fire during a shark attack

Getting skinned alive while listening to Abba cover Celine Dion songs

Calculus

Here is a list of things MORE PAINFUL than what I experienced:

Nothing

Warning: the remainder of this Blog Entry is not for those who are faint of heart or have weak stomachs

Immediately upon sandwiching danger the one eyed ranger; two little, salty tears appeared at the corners of my eyes. Also at this point, I came to the realization that my life would never be the same. The pain felt like I had been shot in the Girthy McGirth by a jagged, bullet shaped, piece of lava. I DROPPED the dumbbells and sat down on a bench, only to promptly stand up because sitting down made it worse. Next, I began walking. I'm not sure initially where I was going, but I knew I was headed there quickly (but not too quickly). The men's locker room seemed like the logical destination for my panic-walk, but my loose fitting basketball shorts were making the journey far too painful. As a result, I walked the last 100 ft or so before the locker room holding my elastic waist strap out from my body to ensure no "rubbing." In this position, with my hanging chad more or less there for everyone to see (if they were close enough and looking down), I went into the locker room and headed straight for a bathroom stall. Somehow in my panic I managed to grab my water bottle, and at this time (obviously due to my delirium) I figured it would be a good idea to douse my Johnny Cockrane with ice-cold Aquafina. Needless to say, that was a mistake. There was a man in the stall next to me... and that man heard me cry.

I will spare you the rest of the details, but for enquiring minds: my Longrod Von Hugenstein is swollen (not in a good way), purple (also not in a good way), and bleeding (yes, it broke the skin).

Pray for me.