2 February 2017


This is a cry for help. We need aid, however it can be provided. Money. Manpower. Military action. Doctors Without Borders. Anything. If you can even just send some juvenile delinquents who skip class to smoke cigarettes but otherwise have nothing to do, we’ll take that. It’s that serious.

We in Congress have all lost our testicles, and we need all the help we can get to reacquire them.

We all knew what it was when we heard it. That sound. That awful sound. Like a sort of prolonged clattering. Or something like a jar of marbles spilling onto the floor. We now refer to that moment as “The Incident.” As in, “Where were you when The Incident occurred,” and, “What have you done recently to aid the many dissolute survivors of The Incident,” etc.

I won’t try to speak for the other congressmen in the House; I can only speak for myself. But I assume that my experience of The Incident was ubiquitous: The sudden release of a small but essential weight in my groin area, the extreme widening of my eyes as I realized what had happened, the terrible cold sweat that purled on my brow as I imagined my testicles leaving their sack and rolling weightily down my pant leg. I imagine it’s very similar to how a toddler who’s just been potty trained feels when he shits himself in front of his disappointed parents.

But shitting yourself is a relatively easy cleanup. And we in Congress almost never all shit ourselves at the same time. When I heard that awful sound, though, it was obvious we were no longer dealing with ordinary circumstances. Hundreds of testicles, mostly from conservative male congressmen, had just broken free of their saggy wrinkled imprisonments and clattered to the floor. We all sat there in our seats, stunned. No one spoke. We stared straight ahead, as if by not acknowledging The Incident we might actually somehow convince ourselves The Incident had never happened.

We replayed The Incident in our minds. We thought about how best to handle The Incident. And we pondered to ourselves how something like The Incident was even possible. Had the testicles all done this of their own accord? Are our testicles sentient? Or has our record in Congress, regarding the protection and responsible implementation of the U.S. Constitution and people’s civil rights, etc., been so excessively bad that The Incident was a natural (and predictable) consequence of our political cynicism? We found no answers.

And then, all at once, we sprung from our chairs and began a weeks-long effort to find our missing gonads. We stooped like hunchbacks as we scrambled after rolling balls. We unintentionally kicked nearby testicles away with the toes of our wingtips. We lunged at testicles that skipped across our path. We got to our feet holding a pair of testicles like trophies only to realize neither testicle was our own. Once I found a testicle I was sure was mine, but as I brought it in for closer inspection it slipped from my grasp and bounded across the House chambers and was lost to me. Testicles rolled back and forth along the House floor and clattered against each other like billiard balls. It was chaos. We needed help from our Congressional colleagues.

After several frantic phone calls, I learned that conservative members of the Senate were coping with their own version of The Incident.

That was all about a month ago. When it happened. We’ve spent the majority of our time  since searching for our testicles. This explains why some of us have spent our entire political careers droning on and on about our weird, creepy love affair with the U.S. Constitution and yet have failed to stand up to Supreme Chancellor Donald Trump, who’s basically been stomping on the constitution with wet and muddy boots, and but then he steps back to urinate on the constitution, and then finally he just picks the dripping parchment up and tears it into very small pieces and tosses them up like deranged confetti. Or something.

So while House and Senate Democrats have spent the last few weeks fighting for the U.S. Constitution (grilling Mr. Trump’s cabinet nominees, giving heart-felt speeches about the unique resolve of our beautiful republic, leading protests against Mr. Trump’s Muslim ban, etc., the list really does go on and on, I’m serious) we congressional Republicans have spent most hours of the day chasing our testicles around the Capitol Building and bumping violently into each other because we can’t, in our positions, look up and see where we’re going. It’s been really bad.

Ten days after The Incident (I-10, is what we call it), House Speaker Paul Ryan finally began stockpiling every testicle he could find, and he collected them in a large Tupperware container. He’s set up a little shop in one of the Capitol Building bathrooms and trades people’s testicles for information on where he might find his own testicles.

Senator Ted Cruz may be the only congressman not worried about the fiasco. He hasn’t had testicles since like college. Over the years, people just assumed Mr. Cruz had massive testicles. How else to explain his deplorable tenure in Congress? Between threatening to shut down the government and trying to defund Planned Parenthood and undermine women’s rights, to proposing during the Republican primaries that we should send massive police forces in to patrol Muslim neighborhoods that don’t exist, he’s been tea-bagging everyone with his big, massive balls. Or so we thought. What people don’t seem to understand is that real men don’t do any of that stuff. It takes a real pussy to try to pull all that stuff off.

So, naturally, we’ve all been consulting Mr. Cruz, in terms of how to get along without our testicles. He just sits back in his chair and kicks his feet up onto his desk and spouts ambiguous aphorisms like, “He who has no balls, rules these halls,” and “A Congressman with testicles must wait in the Senate vestibules.” Shit like that. We think he just makes them up on the spot. It’s no help at all.

Senator Mitch McConnell found his testicles only 12 days into the fiasco, but as he cupped his hot balls to his chest and sprinted toward his office to reattach them, he slipped on one of Senator Marco Rubio’s testicles and hit his head  on the corner of a desk, and his testicles flew from his hands and bounced into a pile of testicles that’s been collecting in a corner of the Senate floor since like I-5. He’s been lying there unconscious ever since.

Speaking of Mr. Rubio, it’s been rumored that he might have found his testicles, since he’s considering maybe not supporting Mr. Trump’s nominee for education secretary, the incredibly incompetent Betsy DeVos. But other rumors suggest he might just be wearing someone else’s lost testicles on the assumption that one pair of balls is just as good as any other.

So, please, send help. Really.


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