During high school springs and summers and the summer after my Freshman year of college, I was employed as a man of the botanical wonders of Earth. I worked at a greenhouse. Perennials, annuals, trees, shrubs, bushes, manure, soil, peat moss, mulch, and statuary were my kin. The work was hard. My slender frame was sculpted into a ripped mass of Grecian beauty after a mere month of the constant lifting and pushing.

Spring and early summer were the busiest times of the year (besides Christmas when every WASP and their grandmother wanted a stupid, sappy, dirty, prickly, Christmas tree). But when we weren't that busy, we weren't busy at all. On such days, I'd sit under an awning, drinking water, watching the cars go buy, feeling the blanket of sun above me.

My friend had a girlfriend who would visit me everyday. She would bring me food or Coolattas. Clearly, she liked me as more than a friend, but that is another story altogether. The sexual tension she carried with her often resulted in random acts of violence. Sometimes she would kick me for no reason. Other times, she'd punch me. Other times she would tackle me and pummel me or tickle me until I wheezed. Mind you, this was always spur of the moment -- NEVER expected.

She used to have a key chain she got with TEVA sandals -- it was two separate key rings secured together with a detachable clip. You know, made of the patented nylon TEVA strap material. Each ring was covered in keys. She had keys to her house in Boston, her house on the Cape, her Grandfather's house, and keys to where she worked.

One day I was standing at the end of an aisle on the greenhouse property, marveling at how beautiful the day was. I then heard someone calling My name, and sure enough, I saw my friend's lover coming towards me with an iced tea in one hand and her keys in the other. She was quite happy to see me and speedily walked my way. When she was within about seven feet, she reached her hand back and, in a style mimicking the method of a softball pitcher pitching a softball, hurled her keys at me full speed.

They flew directly into my testicles.

To add insult to mind-numbing injury, she threw them in such a way that each bunch of keys hit their own testicle. One ring for one testicle, the other ring for the other testicle. A shockwave of pain went up my spine and centered in my stomach, giving me cramps unparalleled by any cramping pain I have ever felt. She immediately noticed my despair and became concerned.

My stomach began to internally disintegrate. I began farting hot, wet, silent waves of pain. I was doubled over. My ass was steaming. What was happening? What sort of chain reaction had this David wrought on my Goliaths? The pain began to swell within my stomach and I thought I would explode. I pushed her aside and ran into the bathroom.

I locked myself in and sat on the throne, my injured boys dangling into the cool porcelain abyss. I exploded. Hot sauce ejected from my buttocks, backed by a torrent of hot gas which pushed out the feces at an even greater plug. Agonized, I involuntarily shat and shat and farted molten gas and lava as my balls silently wept below me.

Finally, I was spent. I was in pain still, but the diarrhea she had caused had subsided. Never before had I been hit in the nuts so hard that it triggered a bout of explosive diarrhea. With aching balls, I spent the rest of the day wincing and avoiding any unnecessary squatting.

I ended up dating this testicular assassin for three years.

-- Jeff