I don't know if you knew this about me, but my mom used to be a hockey player in Canada.
She got pregnant while she was a forward for the Saskatoon Beaver Nuzzlers after a tryst with famed Canadian hockey announcer, Walter "Golden Loon" Chevalier. Oddly, she didn't even know she was pregnant until the championship game against the Thunder Bay Battlin' Lesbians. The scoreless game had gone into overtime and there were only 20 seconds left in the period when she stole the puck from the Lesbian defenseman and found herself in a breakaway situation. Just as she was about to slap the puck towards the goalie, she felt a sudden, powerful contraction. Seconds later, a 9-pound, blue-eyed baby boy was spit onto the ice like a watermelon seed propelled from Dizzy Gillespie's lips.
Baby, bloody placenta, and puck skidded together across the ice like an out of control Ice Road Trucker past the glove of the outstretched goalie and into the net. Despite being momentarily stunned, the goal judge flashed the red light and precipitated a celebration that rivaled that of the Canadian Olympic teams' 2010 gold medal victory in Vancouver. She named me Billy on the spot, held me over her head as if I were Lord Stanley's Cup, and skated around the rink for all to adore.
The cheers faded to shocked murmurs a few moments later when the crowd began to notice something terribly wrong with baby Billy’s genitals. While the penis was large enough to serve as a reasonable facsimile of famed Montreal Canadian Guy Lafleur's stick, the nutsack fluttered in the breeze like the Canadian flags that festooned the outdoor rink. Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. One of baby Billy’s testicles appeared to undescended, prompting the cruel Canadian sportscasters to call the infant TC, not for "Too Cute," but for "Testicle Conspicuouslyabsent."
My mother's shame was so great that we had to move to the States. She got a job as a stripper and the only time she ever "played hockey” was on stage. She had this act where she'd "skate" around naked and body check the other dancers off the stage. She got great tips, but they didn't even make a dent in the occasional lawsuit.
Me? I grew up ridiculed by the other children. They called me "Uniball," "Cy-nut," and their favorite, "Vinnie Testi-lonely," after the NFL quarterback. Oh, there were times when the handicap came in handy. For instance, when other kids put a baseball card in their spokes to make their bike sound like a motorcycle, all I had to do was slip off my underwear and wear loose shorts and the winds would buffet my partially empty nutsack and make pretty much the same noise. Other than that, though, it was pretty miserable.
Ok, that last picture really has nothing to do with the story. I just like looking at it.
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SHE SHOOTS, SHE SCORES!!!!
