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2002-02-21 11:45 p.m.

The HTs. PART 1.

A few weeks ago, my work colleague K. mentioned that she had a horse. I was not terribly surprised, seeing as lots of girls enjoy horses. I think that—no matter how much they deny it—they just die for the ability to be in control of a huge, pounding muscle between their legs. But, that is not the point.

Days and weeks passed and occasionally K. would mention her horse. One day, she was especially excited to give me a horse update.

K.: Justin, guess what.
Justin: What?
K.: My horse is having surgery next week.
Justin: Um, ok. [Don't care, don't care, don't care.]
K.: Don't you want to know what kind of surgery?
Justin: Um, no. [Don't care, don't care, don't care.]
K.: I will give you a hint. It is getting some things removed.

Holy god almighty. Her horse was going to join the ranks of the equestrian eunuchs. Snip, snip. Horse ball relocation program. Shooting blanks forever. I was suddenly overwhelmed with joy at the possibility.

Justin: Can I have the little buddies after they cut them off?

I mean, why not? One horse's loss in another man's gain, right? Luckily, Karina was a good sport and she agreed with me. She was not grossed out. She did not say I was weird. She was not offended. She told me that she would ask the doctor to save them for me. It was just as easy as simply knowing what I wanted and asking for it. No problem.

I missed work Monday and Tuesday due to some weird sickness thing I picked up. Something involving lungs and phlegm and taking codeine. I called Tollef at work while laying in bed sick.

Tollef: So, how are you feeling?
Justin: Bad.
Tollef: That is too bad. You are probably going to be especially bummed because someone had something for you here today. One of the receptionists had a special package for you.
Justin: Rad! Is it the new iBook Jean ordered for me?
Tollef: Well, no. Let's just say it's initials are H.T.

I had to get better. I had to be healed. I thought healthy thoughts and took vitamins. I rested. I went to bed early. I needed to get to well and go back to work. The horse testicles were waiting for me!

So, it turned out that is was really not a big deal that I missed a few days. K. did not give the HTs to anyone else. I guess most people were not as excited about them as I was. In fact, the people she showed them to were mostly pretty upset by the fact that she had two gigantic horse testicles in a jar, carelessly lolling about in a bath of rubbing alcohol.

Lovely K. The guaranteed #1 source for all your horse testicle needs!

It was really cute—K. had delicately wrapped up the jar and put it in a gift bag for me, so as to conceal it from the non–horse–testicle–loving–constituency of work. They barely fit in the mason jar. I thought about how the wide–mouthed jar acted as sort of a see–through glass scrotum. She told me that I absolutely had to change the rubbing alcohol every other day otherwise they would go bad, and she warned that it was going to be a very long time before she got another horse, so I ought to really take good care of them.

Needless to say, I was about as excited as I could have possibly been. Dude my very own gigantic, severed horse testicles. The HTs. I thought I was going to cry. I hugged Karina and thanked her a thousand times and ran off to my office to spend some alone time with my new friends.

As you can see, they barely fit in the jar. These things are big. (Although I expected them to be even bigger, but, not every horse is created equal.)

It was not too long before it was time to change the rubbing alcohol. Gloves were definitely in order. I headed to the handicapped stall for the stealth alcohol–changing maneuver. I prayed nobody would come in and hear me fiddling about in there. I did not want to have to explain this one.

First, I carefully opened the jar and I poured the blood and alcohol mixture into the toilet.

Pouring out the rubbing alcohol revealed some important information: Not only were the HTs big, but also incredibly veiny, bloody and disgusting.

I was really busy at work today, so I did not get as much quality time with the HTs as I had planned. I was happy when there was a lull in the action—I was looking forward to taking the little buddies on a walk around work. Maybe we would even have a little testicle adventure together!

First I took them to go visit building 1. A lot of people had questions about the little guys, so I held an impromptu class to help spread the truth of the horse testicle.

We went to visit Jean in her office. They looked really nice next to Jean's dark red iMac—kind of like a bloody, gory paperweight. Here is another close–up of their beautiful glory.

I asked Tollef how much I would have to pay him to lick one. He was not pleased with the venture. He and I agreed that I would probably do it for pretty cheap. I am easy like that. Note to self: Think about whether or not I would be willing to lick the HTs.

Things started to get nutty. Horse testicles really create a wild social dynamic. J. went a little nuts, sniffed a bunch of dry erase markers and got a tad carried away. I wanted to tell her, "Hey, J.! Licking them while they are still in the jar is fairly impressive and cool, but it is nowhere as impressive as licking those veiny globes of horse manliness real up close and personal." [Note to self: I definitely need to lick them at some point.]

Ok, ok, ok. Time to go for now.

Read Part 2.