I may not be able to play tennis like Andy Roddick, but it appears I do have one thing in common with him. Michael's always yelling at me and grabbing my hands when we're on the sofa or in bed watching TV. He says my hands are always in my pants. (Are they? Honestly, I don't even realize I'm doing it.) The way I see it is this: if God had wanted guys to not touch their balls all the time, he would have made them internal, like ovaries. It's kind of like the old saying: why does a dog lick his balls? Because he can. Ironically, in Andy's case the best part has nothing to do with what's up front ...
2 comments:
just like the street vendor: nuts about nuts!
he's too yum. i hate it. and i love it.
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