By Bobby Bracelet © 2005
Editor's Note: This is an excerpt from Bob Respert's great American novel that nobody asked for, tentatively titled: Huge Junk: The Bobby Bracelet Story.
I have an excellent memory. I guess you can thank the wondrous mixing of my parents' DNA for that. I wouldn't go so far as to say that it's a photographic memory, but whatever you want to call it, I can remember before I was born.
They say that a very small percentage of people in the world can remember when they were semen. I don't know WHAT the percentage is, and I don't know WHO "they" are, but I saw it on microfiche so I know it's true. (Seriously, who would go thru the trouble of creating a microfiche with a lie on it? You'd have to have serious amounts of free time on your hands, the kind of time where writing a novel sounds doable.)
But back to the topic at hand, my pre-birth.
I distinctly remember hanging out in my dad's left nut with all my buddies. All the cool sperms hung out on the left side. The right side was where we all agreed the potential fags, cripples, and uglies hung out. Yeah, while the right side boasted uncool sperms like Marvin, Spencer, and Timothy hanging around the sack, you'd likely find Pookie, Ray-Ray, and B-Smith on the much hipper left side.
I was the brutish, yet likable sperm that everyone wanted to be buddies with. Many a night was spent with me weaving beautiful stories of the stuff I planned on doing on the "outside" while hanging around at the local watering hole, eating the only thing available to sperm, salty nuts.
While not the fastest of swimmers (Although my flagellum was thrice confirmed as HUGE by the ladies of left nut) I was crafty as hell. I clutched, grabbed, and tripped my way to the front of the pack one fateful evening. We had felt the early warning signs while I'd been regaling the troops with a story about how I would someday turn down the presidency because the campaign interfered with MacGyver reruns.
The guys were enthralled with how one man could defeat entire armies with nothing more than some wires, a battery, and four cloves of garlic. Sure I could change the world, but there just aren't a whole lot of things as great as a lazy afternoon on the couch while Mac throws away a gun so he has two hands free to make a cardboard weapon.
But the interruption had come suddenly and we were now washed away, mid story, to a destination only talked about by the elders. I distinctly remember coming out of my father like a flying Karamazov. The direction to head was obvious, although getting there would prove to be more difficult than I wanted.
I looked everywhere around me, but it appeared that Pookie and Ray-Ray had somehow remained behind. In every direction I saw right-nutters jockeying for space, slapping each other on the asses, and comparing outfits. Ridiculous.
I was only zero years old, but I already knew two things.
First, don't mess with Texas.
Second, no pansy assed, potential cripple sperm was beating me to that egg.
Luck is when preparation meets opportunity. One of the elders told me that after he was repeatedly left behind on the great egg hunts that took place numerous times a week, and sometimes twice in one night. Keep telling yourself that old man.
But the thought did cross my mind as I was deposited squarely in the middle of an opportunity that I had been preparing for. I was behind a half million or so trained egg hunters and I did not want to let my father down by allowing his first son to be a one-legged pillow biter. I needed to make my own luck.
But the tunnel was angry that day, my friends.
I liken it to being in the middle of a very angry wave pool. Add in a few million other swimmers and you've got a very tough task in getting thru everyone to the ladder out of the pool. And oh yeah, if you don't get to the ladder first, you die.
I spied B-Smith a few lengths ahead of me and it seemed like he had a good idea of where to go. I knocked aside the sperms that were in my way, swinging my huge flagellum like a club.
B-Smith noticed the commotion behind him and turned quickly, expecting a fight, but a big grin materialized instead and we got straight to the task at hand.
I wouldn't realize this until years later, but what transpired next was the precursor to Roller Derby, which was my idea.
B-Smith and I took turns swinging each other forward thru the masses. In some cases we needed the momentum it created, but in others we were using ourselves as battering rams to knock unsuspecting hunters out of the way.
Now, in the heat of this type of battle, there is no light at the end of the tunnel. It's awfully dark in there, my friends. If you're not careful you can end up right where you started. Luckily I've always had a very keen sense of direction. Call it a sixth sense, call it dumb luck, but it has proven itself over and over throughout my life. It's sort of like a math theorem, I guess.
We suddenly managed to find a break in the sea of sperm. My senses were telling me that we were close now. B-Smith pointed out a couple lads who were disappearing around some sort of corner. I could tell this was something we should follow up on, and directed B-Smith to stand watch at the corner while I snuck around to see what was there.
Peering around the corner I silently applauded myself for a correct assumption, for lying at the end of a small length of tunnel was the egg. My egg.
It turns out that preparation was just about to meet opportunity after all. Damn, for such an unlucky sperm as that wise elder was, he might have been on to something about good luck.
I recognized Derek, a lanky sperm, who clocked a solid 12 on the pansy scale. If it wasn't his lisp, it was the way he sashayed around the right nut that made it obvious he would grow up gay. Right now though, he was dropping his best pickup lines on the egg in hopes of gaining entrance.
His buddy was waiting patiently for his turn when I snuck up behind him. Derek was in the middle of a lame attempt at a manly pickup line as I got within striking distance. I only heard the first part, "Do you like sausage?"
Sperm, child, or adult, snapping the neck is a much easier thing to do than one would realize. Derek's buddy tumbled silently to the floor.
Derek, on the other hand, certainly wasn't giving up as easily. He had been turned down at least two times already but was only increasing his pressure. So he noticed too late as I grabbed his tail and pulled him back from the egg. He squealed like a little girl and I gave my best, See what you almost let in? look to the egg.
For such a lanky sperm, Derek put up a decent fight. It took me almost 20 seconds to dispatch him in a style similar to his friend. I looked back towards the corner and felt momentarily bad for what I was about to do. B-Smith wouldn't know he had no shot until it was too late. Well, so long as my pickup skills were as good as I thought they were.
"Hi, I'm Jade. Who are you?" the egg asked.
"I'm the conductor of the pleasure train. First stop: You."
"That's funny, but what's your name stud?"
"I'm Bobby, but that's not important right now. You are. And you look awfully tense, I give great back massages, you know."
"I could use a back massage, but I always like my massages to be very sensual and often they lead to other things. You may have skills when it comes to massage, but what are your qualifications for what may come afterwards?"
Silently I backed away from Jade so she could get a good view. I looked left, looked right, and after I was sure the coast was clear I slipped down my swim trunks.
You could hear my junk thump on the floor as it landed, and her gasp was audible all the way around the corner. B-Smith couldn't help but draw his attention away from security for a moment.
And it was at that moment that Jade quickly opened up and allowed me inside. I looked back at my good friend B-Smith and shrugged my shoulders while I fanned my hands out, as if to say Am I good, or am I good?
Bobby Bracelet was officially born 9.5 seconds later.
Being in the womb is sort of boring. You don't have anyone to talk to and although you can hear people talking on the outside, it's really hard to make out what they are saying.
I do know that my parents would get ultrasounds and spend the next few hours crying over the pictures that depicted what appeared to be a 3-legged baby. It wouldn't be for a few months yet until they would be told that the abnormality wasn't what they originally thought.
Bobby didn't have an extra limb, the doctor would explain, he has just has really Huge Junk.
Bobby Bracelet is drug salesman from Michigan.
December 24, 2005
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