Tales from Movember: Pt3
Due to no demand, the offending mo
The Final Insult
Cute girl: Hi.
Me: Hey.
Cute girl: You trying to grow a mo for Movember?
Me: Not trying, succeeding.
Cute girl: That? Nah, you’ll get there but that’s no mo, I get more off when I get my lip waxed.
Me: But… It’s November 27th! If it’s not there yet it won’t ever be!
Cute girl: *Tisk* Shame.
Me: Oh…
Cute girl: Are you registered? That really is so pathetic I feel I should donate or something.
So, like the stranger who felt pity for my feeble attempt to grow a mo’ and suffering a month of embarrassment, you too can donate to me. Or you can donate to Movember in general, it is a great cause and a lot of fun, despite all my moaning (see below).
PS I will be shaving at one minute past midnight tonight, should I auction off the hair for more money?
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Tales from Movember Pt2
The Dentist
Dentist: Alright, just put your head back and open your mouth wide.
Me: aighhh (speaking with my mouth wide open)
Dentist: Oh my god!
Me: Wha?!
Dentist: I’ve never seen anything like this.
Me: Huh?
Dentist: It’s horrible!
Me: Wha wha!?
Dentist: It’s… some sort of growth on your lip…
Me: … huh?
Dentist: It’s some ginger, fuzzy growth, it’s disgusting.
Me: Shu ud *shut up
Dentist: I’ll do what I can but i work primarily in the mouth, you might want to see a plastic surgeon about it.
Me: *sigh*
Tales from Movember Pt1
The Men’s Room
I am at the urinal doing my business when a man walks in sporting an awesome mustache and begins using the urinal next to me.
Me: Wow, that’s awesome!
Him: Pardon?
Me: I wish I could get mine to grow as long and thick as that.
Him: What!?
Me: You get much money for it?
Him: 
Me: 
He finishes his business quickly and leaves in a hurry. It’s not until he has left I realised I never mentioned I was talking to this man about his mustache.
Expect more Tales from Movember on Ginger Ninja as the month comes to a close. It’s not too late to donate to me. Or just donate in general, it is a great cause and a lot of fun.
Movember: Having a ball
Some time a few years ago I was experiencing a slightly sore left nut, sorry, testicle (to keep it medical). It seemed higher than normal and was more uncomfortable than anything. So, despite how awkward it felt, I did the right thing went to the doctor. The man doctor (phew) told me to take off my pants. He then took an inordinate period of time asking me questions while I stood there yogi style. Surely he could’ve asked me the questions while I was still in pants and then have me take them off?
Once he’d finished with the long list of questions he began his inspection. There are few things weirder than being nude from the waist down and have someone inspect your junk, I literally didn’t know where to look. When he was done he told me I was “well hung” (he was referencing the nut itself unfortunately) but referred me for an ultra sound none the less, just to be on the safe side. The number of people to have witnessed my balls was now growing exponentially.
The ultrasound doctor (another dude) was grumpy chap. I’d obviously interrupted his lovely day rubbing glowing, elated pregnant womens bellies with my maybe defective ball bag.
When you go in for a testicular ultrasound they make you do this thing where you fold you dick, sorry penis, up against yourself with a little towel leaving the testicles isolated and hanging out on their own. I guess it’s so they’re not constantly not having to knock your penis out of the way but it also helps you feel like you’re retaining some dignity. Then comes the lube.
The doctor lubed up my balls with no less than a handful of lube. Not a squirt, not a drop but a scoop of lube and then proceeds to draw tracks over my balls with a small vegetable peeling looking device. He tells me he is measuring circumference and diameter and looks for anything generally out of the norm… The silence is brutal… It’s a good 15 minutes or more of this dude covering every inch of your boys while you watch a screen that doesn’t look like anything more than smoke.
What’s that? Is that normal? That’s not a 3rd one is it?
Thankfully, my nuts are perfectly normal.
He handed me some paper towel to de-lube my balls (not nearly enough) and left the room. As he left he said if I took my referral to the x-ray people down the hall I could get a print out like the pregnant women do. I really wanted to get it so I could keep it in my wallet and show people “the twins” but with my balls still quite lubed and uncomfortable I decided to leave, walking out like John Wayne through a room full of pregnant women.
So why the sore ball you ask? Well, I found out a week later while at the osteopath that it was probably due to my starting to do some sit-ups and exercise after a prolonged period of inactivity. My ball was hanging a bit different and it was probably just getting in the way a bit more than usual and thus a bit sore and uncomfortable… huh.
The 
purpose of this story is to show that as embarrassing as it might seem to go through something like this, it’s the same for all blokes and the peace of mind you receive makes it worthwhile. It could also save your life, so if you’re worried about your balls, you should just bite the bullet and get them checked out. A little embarrassment never hurt anyone, and you will probably get a killer story out of it!
And in the spirit of embarrassment I am participating again in this years Movember. If you like the idea of a ranga trying (note: trying) to grow some lip pubes and failing miserably please donate to me. Or just donate in general, it is a great cause and a lot of fun.
Hey baby
An artists interpretation of me holding a baby
I have never held a baby before. Ever. Not once. I have no interest in it. It scares me. I feel nervous about handling my iphone 4 let alone the product of someones own biology. If someone dropped my phone, it can be replaced. If I were to drop someones baby I don’t think my offer of sleeping with the wife to replace it would really work out.
The heads freak me out. Not being able to lift their own head is just odd. I feel if I hold it wrong the head will pop clean off and roll awkwardly to the feet of the parents, shaking their heads in disbelief, knowing they shouldn’t have let “Uncle Mitch” near their child.
On the weekend I visited my mate who has just had a baby himself (well, his Mrs did the hard work but he helped). After politely declining a few time to hold the baby I was saved by the arrival of my mates parents, the babies grandparents. I took this window of opportunity to leave while the grandparents were distracted playing with the baby. Then I heard the Grandad say this:
Grandad: *baby goo-goo talk*… Huh. His hairs still a little red, isn’t it… I hope this peach fuzz grows out, we don’t want a ranga in the family.
Me: I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.
Grandad: *Looks up at me* Whoops, didn’t realise we had one here…
Me: Yup.
Grandad: Sorry?
Me: Never mind, happens all the time.
Maybe, own one day, I will have a child of my own and maybe I will hold it, but it’s more likely I’ll just hug them when they’re 6 years old or a nice pat on the head or something… If they aren’t one of those unfortunate rangas that is.
