Hubby’s Jewels Threatened by Doctor With Tuna…

Bluefin Tuna photo from Pixabay

I swear to God, that’s the headline at our house this week. (And yes, I’ll explain.) The last time we talked this much about the Hubby’s junk was October of 2011 when the Thunderwear discussion erupted.

For those of you who missed the Thunderwear talk, and are too sleepy to click that link, it went like this:

On a long-ago October Monday (in Volume 2 of the Undie Chronicles) I mentioned the Thunderwear my honey was lusting after. Some of the More Cowbell posse had me in stitches because they thought Thunderwear referenced those bottom-of-the-drawer undies that have seen better days.

*clutching sides giggling all over again*

Thunderwear is actually a concealed carry gun holster that fits over the top of a dude’s “junk.” Swear.

When I was writing Volume 2, I asked my guy what kind of underwear would get him excited, he answered “Thunderwear.”

[Of course I had to look it up to figure out what he was talking about.]

Imagine this INSIDE the pants, shorts, etc. Does this look cozy to you?

Do you see that gun aiming right at this man’s family jewels.

When I mentioned that to my husband, he said, “You know, technically we’re done having kids so they can’t be called ‘the family jewels’ anymore.”

Me: Okay fine, we’ll just call them “MY jewels,” and agree that I’d like to keep you from shooting them OFF.

Hubby: You don’t actually aim at your junk. You position the gun at 11 o’clock. (This is accompanied by him pointing, showing me that his belt buckle is at 6 o’clock and his jewels were at high noon.) If in doubt, be sure to reference the photo.

Me: Oh, so you can accidentally shoot yourself in the femoral artery and die in 10 minutes? Yeah, I’m really embracing this Thunderwear idea.

Hubby: I’ve never heard of anyone shooting their rocks off, but it does give a whole new meaning to “blow job,” doesn’t it?

Me: *cracking up* Good one, Honey. You are sooooo bloggable.

[In case, you’d like to see Thunderwear in action, I’ve included a video. This guy kills me because he is SO SERIOUS. Plus he says, “If you know what I mean” in the perfect spot.]

Anyway, that’s the last time we had any major discussions about my man’s junk. But this Wednesday, he’s having an outpatient surgery called “the TUNA” where they get all loosey-goosey with some needles up his junk.

[And yes, I obtained permission before writing this post.]

The Mayo Clinic describes the procedure like this:

During TUNA, a specially adapted visual instrument (cystoscope) is inserted through your urethra. Using the cystoscope, your doctor guides a pair of tiny needles into the prostate tissue that is pressing on the urethra. Then radio waves are passed through the needles to create scar tissue.

Doesn’t that sound so pretty? Like he’s going to have kicky show tunes floating out of his crotch or something?

Um, no. No, that’s not the way it goes down (or I guess I should say up) at all.

They use those needles to burn up the prostate and make it contract, and then they make him wear a catheter for several days “in case of swelling.”

Insert Jenny Thought Bubble:
They’re basically gonna light part of my dude’s jewels on fire, and they think there MIGHT be swelling? I think the guys who write the copy for these sites are smoking crack.

Needless to say, I’ve had TONS of questions for the doctors, and the discussion of my guy’s junk has been copious this week, if you know what I mean.

Do you know anything I should know about the TUNA? Please give us some great jokes for this procedure – we need some new material. What’s on your mind this week (besides my guy’s junk)? Enquiring minds love to know these things here at More Cowbell!

~ Jenny