Scratching my Sack
This is a true and gruesome story, so if there are small eyes watching I suggest you leave the premises immediately following this current sentence.
Now that you have kept reading and totally ignored my warnings, let me begin with my story...
It was a late day in January, snow on the ground and a deep chill in the air. There was a calm in the streets that was unusual and erie. I had my Dora the Explora memorabilia t-shirt on and my skinny bell bottom jeans to match.
I was heading back from a pride party, which I cannot give anymore detail, when I was in the middle of being mugged. He was big and burly, about 6"9', 400 pounds of pure man hole. We wrestled around in the snow for what seemed like 3 seconds. I began to get pissed off with the whole situation and then decided it was time to show this motherfucker who was the boss.
So with one big swipe, I unzipped my bell bottoms, untucked my Dora T, and began to scratch my sack which sent massive vibrations and some type of laser field in his direction, totally paralyzing him.
True Story, ask Gnome
I am Eastside and I once killed a man, just by scratching my sack.