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2007-12-24 11:43 a.m.

I bought these at Wal Mart to commemorate one of the most beautiful things that happened to me this Christmas Season. Notice how the small child in line appreciates them WITH HER HANDS.

My grandfather had a heart attack. So, Claire and I went to visit him at Good Samaritan Hospital in San Jose.

He'd just gotten two stents put into his heart on the day we went to see him.

I asked him how they got the stents in there, and he said, "Through my CROTCH." He likes the word crotch. You can tell because he says it so loudly.

My grandmother sat by the side of the hospital bed and rolled her eyes at this.

He asked, "You wanna see where they put it in through?"

I really did, actually. So he lifted up the white gown he had draped over him. He pointed to the area where his thigh met his groin. "See? It's right here."

The thing was that I could not see, because a giant parachute scrotum filled with enormous balls eclipsed his entire lower region. I didn't let him know that all I could see were his two giant balls.

"I can't quite see the shunt grandpa."

He couldn't see down there either. He was laying on his back and there was a hospital tray on his stomach. He pointed in the general direction of Ball Junction, as if that might help me find the shunt, "Come on! RIGHT HERE!" It was as if raising his voice would help me see it better, "NOW DO YOU SEE IT?"

I still didn't see the shunt. All I saw were his HUGE, glimmering testicles, hanging in a long, hairless, china-white sac. His scrotum was very white and very neatly shaved. It was also very taut—not all wrinkly and veiny. Maybe it was taut because it was about to burst at the seams. I must make it very clear here that his balls were massive—the kind of balls that haunt your dreams; balls to inspire minstrels and oil painters.

"Um, I don't see the shunt grandpa. All I can see are your balls."

Grandpa just snickered at that.

Nana rolled her eyes again, "It's just like I've always told you, Justin. He's all balls. Nothing in between, but all balls."

Grandpa got a little defensive about this, "There's something in between, damn it! You just need to play with it a little to get it to come out. You know, a little sucky sucky."

This was the first time Claire met my family.

When I went to bed that night I did my moral inventory for the day. Each day I make a list in my diary of the good and bad parts of my day—my assets and liabilities.

I had to think about it for a while, but in the end I decided it was an asset. So, in the left column I wrote:

Saw my grandpa's giant balls