“My balls bring people to a magical happy place.” Whether from just the pure joy of being in the proximity of my balls (as in the case of a few lucky ladies with low standards) or in the case of James Barone, out of pure shock (recoiling into his safe dreamworld of elfin maidens and harmonized guitar leads to preserve his last bits of sanity). Last night, passed out on our floor, a certain Synthesis contributer and current CMJ/Spin cog got the real goods when my family jewels dangled over his forehead. My first teabag experience, one that was preordained by various intermittent text messages of “Balls” over the last year. No skin-to-skin contact was made, but it’s the thought that counts. And for the record, I think it was a certainpublisher who put the idea into my head.
“Spencer! Put your balls on MK’s head.”
So I think I brought the room to a new low…but with hilarious consequences.
This hotel room smells like balls and sadness, and despite having a well-put-together female room mate, there is only so much manstink a girl can absorb. But anyway, my balls are Sunday’s band of the day.
Also, I;m pretty much sure that I am now a Member of Soundtrack of Our Lives.