The Everyman’s Guide To The Nutshot


It’s difficult to describe the nutshot to anyone who’s never experienced it (that is, women, extraordinarily lucky men, and Ken dolls). I guess a good place to start is throwing up. You know when you reach the point of dry heaving? The pain that you feel when your stomach contorts and tries to expel the very last contents of your stomach is a good way to describe the pain that happens about three to five seconds after the initial kick. Before this fresh level of hell kicks in though, we men get to enjoy a few other flavours.


When the ball-busting originally happens, a few things occur. For those of us who’ve been nutted before, retraction begins. Without thinking, the berries are protected by an uncoordinated series of movements that can only be described as the thrashings of a retarded sea otter having an epileptic seizure. Facial contortions, bulging eyes, a surprised “O” mouth, followed by the attempted removal of the boys from the offending hitty-thing. This can be achieved via a jump back, hands/arms/legs being brought in as sacrificial appendages, a reverse pelvic thrust, or all of the above.


Now that we’ve line-danced like a brain damaged water-dwelling mammal, the fun really starts. The next step is The Wait. I hate The Wait. The Wait is the period of time between contact and the brain-searing pain of a truly epic shot to the nards. The Wait can last from a millisecond to 4-5 seconds. Usually, the longer The Wait, the more epic the pain is.


This is where the Cup-n-Crumple comes in. In an effort to protect the affected area from further trauma, the hands immediately (and gently) cup the genitals in a warm and loving protective embrace. Right after this, the legs stop doing their leggy job and fall swiftly into the category of ‘Things That Don’t Matter Anymore’. Also lumped into this category are: anyone else in the vicinity; fast-moving trains about to flatten you; your dignity; long division; boobs; your face hitting the pavement as you fall; and global warming.


"Fuck you, Planet!"


The Pain starts now. Fireworks go off behind your eyes, which are squinched so tightly together (Yes, if you get kicked in the balls, “squinched” becomes a word) that the Jaws of Life would blow a gasket trying to pry them open. Your eyes may open at some point, but this is only so that people around you can watch as they roll back in your skull. You’ll usually squinch again.


Here’s where The Pain really comes into it’s own. Your poor brain has now had time to process the fact that you’ve been hit, and The Fun Factory begins to feel like it’s turning in on itself, like a sea cucumber ejecting its guts to confuse a predator (never seen that? Google it). The Pain spreads from your beans to the pit of your stomach. This is where the dry-heaving analogy comes in. There is absolutely nothing you can do to make The Pain go away. Changing positions won’t help, and you certainly can’t walk it off, as your legs are Things That Don’t Matter Anymore, and will not obey your commands. The Pain radiates into your upper inner thighs, and spreads further into your stomach.


At some point, you may think you’ve transcended The Pain. It’s fading… Maybe you can stand up again, brush yourself off and try to recover a little decorum. No, no. This is just The Pain softening you up for another round. It’s like Mike Tyson letting his guard down a little, and just when you start to think you’re going to win, BLAM! He’s chewing on your ear. Except this isn’t Mike Tyson. This is The Pain, and The Pain has more teeth than Mike. Dull teeth, attached to a hydraulic jaw that slowly crushes your man-eggs into white-hot orbs of agony. And this also isn’t your ear…



The Groan comes next. No human should be able to make this sound. If a zombie sat through the entirety of Ol’ Yeller and got really emotional and cried at the end, The Groan would still be a sadder and more disturbing noise. The Groan can continue longer than you have breath, as some of the substance of The Groan consists of sperm that has died and are now Ghost Sperm, which (as we all know) can only leave the body through the mouth.


You know what the worst thing is? If you kick a man in the balls hard enough, he can die. Yes, die. Because clearly, this is the body’s only known defense against The Pain.


Want more from this author? Try A complaint to Orange

Or for a related article, how about The Everyman’s Guide To Sunbathing

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