A Million Versions of Right by Matthew Revert Read Free Book Online Page B

can possibly get. He told me that Pat’s scrotum couldn’t be located! I rushed past him and spilled into the room where Pat was getting treated. He looked up at me with the saddest eyes you’ve ever seen, seriously, these eyes could have killed God, and he tells me that his boys were gone and I just dove in and hugged him tighter than I’ve ever hugged anyone.
    “They didn’t keep him in the hospital for long as they figured there wasn’t much point. I mean, if they’re gone they’re gone and it wasn’t as if a medical procedure existed that’d bring his boys back. You’re silly father asked to be dragged home, so I had to spend some time with your uncle Billy reinforcing a tricycle that your poor old mum had to peddle home. So there I was pumping my chicken legs as hard as I could, your father secured with some ties I had only just purchased. He was scraping along the road behind me, arms folded in front of him like Count Dracula. The silly bugger was still wearing his hospital robe and the asphalt was sanding his arse red raw. So when we finally got home (a feat that took me four bloody days!), not only did I have to tend to your father’s lack of scrotum but I was also rubbing implausible quantities of ointment into his body length scab. Each time I applied pressure of any kind, a jet of pus shot out accompanied by a farting noise. I was covered in strings of back juice. Your father had erected some creepy mausoleum-like structure on his crotch and was playing Gregorian chant LP’s on a depressing loop.
    “This malarkey went on for nearly two months and I was starting to get sick of it. I’d already quit my job and the only money coming into the house were royalties from an STD I developed in conjunction with Blackmyer Ltd. They went belly up soon after when it was discovered their STDs weren’t actually contagious.
    I remember slapping the needle off whatever depressing Gregorian chant LP was playing and kicking his memorial groin structure into a crumble. I sat at the end of his bed, much like I’m doing with you boys right now, and told him that we needed to move on. Until now he hadn’t let me look at his crotch once. He thought that the very notion of his wife seeing the mess down there would be an affront to his masculinity. But I got real close to his face, his heavy breath fogging up my eyeballs, and I told him that if he didn’t give me a good ol’ gander, I’d be out the door before he could slam the needle back down on his LP.
    “He stared up at me with eyes so pathetic that they were nearly obnoxious. He tried in vain to have me capitulate but he knew the jig was up. He begrudgingly wiped away the mausoleum rubble and lifted the loin cloth slowly. Fists of stink flew from his revealed crotch and knocked me to the ground. I fought my way to my feet and got in as close as my nose would bear.
    I tell you what boys, the light in the room may not have been great, but I saw them, clear as day! There, lying just below his withered, catheter-stuffed shaft were his testicles!
    “I screamed in disbelief. All this shit for nothing. I fetched a body length mirror from the garage and rushed back to Pat. I flicked on the light and held the mirror up to him, imploring him to look. He saw the flippin’ things straight away. His hand darted down and cupped them like a thirsty man might cup water from a stream. I mean, to be completely fair, one ball had a clear shoulder-shaped dent and the other had split in two but they were still there godammit!      
    “As you’d expect, we wanted answers. We marched on down to the hospital and demanded to see the doctor who treated your father. Turns out the fucking weasel had quit one week prior. He was one of those prejudiced scrotum haters. The bastard knew from the start that Pat’s balls were there but he was working on a theory of ignorance. He was convinced that by simply refusing to acknowledge the existence of your scrotum, it would eventually just