Balls

I heard somewhere that the guns that traffic cops use to gauge your speed emit enough radiation to cause cancer. After laying them in their laps to take a drink of coffee, that thing rested against the cop’s nads long enough to give the man testicular cancer. Although I could never wish that on another man, the irony of the situation isn’t lost. Here are guys who get off on being macho; pulling someone over for not stopping before exiting a driveway isn’t keeping the streets any safer, it’s a pissing contest between you and a sad bastard who didn’t make the football team. That’s why, when their under-calibrated tool poisons their other under-calibrated tool into cancer, you can almost feel God nudging your ribs to make sure you got the joke.

Now days it’s almost cool for guys to get testicular cancer. It’s like since we no longer have to worry about getting shivved in a back alley we can still go to war – against our own balls. It’ll leave a scar and it’ll draw attention to our groin. How tough is that to tell your friends in your white sweater on a tennis court? It’s totally cool. Plus Lance Armstrong had it and, if he experienced it, then it’s most likely good for humanity. I bet there’s even a type of guy who likes when people ask about his yellow, rubber bracelet just so he can go into his own battle with the big, dark cancer. That same guy has a bumper sticker that says “These Colors Don’t Run” and thinks he’s making a statement.

Cancer survivors and cops are both groups of men who like to make sure we all know that they’re really indeed MEN. With their mustaches and their overbite and their cheap cologne. Of course, I want to be a cop – what guy doesn’t to some degree. Especially guys my age, we grew up with Magnum PI, Sidekicks, and Beverly Hills Cop 2. We think that being a cop involves at least one car chase scene, one strip bar scene, one straight-up beat down scene and probably one scene that involves layers of complicated emotions every single damn day. You get to wear whatever you want and answer to no one except for a nebbish Police Chief who always complains about your unorthodox methods to the Commissioner¹.

You barely have any paperwork and when you do it’s in a cool office that you can smoke in. Your partner is either hot or awesome and you drive a car that runs on pure machismo with flames. And you don’t even need to worry about testicular cancer because, not only are you immune but you don’t have to worry about pulling people over because you’re actually out fighting crime.


¹except for Batman who spoke directly to the Commissioner. But Batman wasn’t a cop, he was a billionaire playboy.