Balls

Attn parents: Sports-related double entendres ahead! Proceed with caution!

The other morning (and by "morning" I mean "afternoon") John woke up with a pain in half his tiddlywinks. (And by "tiddlywinks" I mean..."tiddlywinks.") He's fine now, so not to worry; those are all the gory details you're going to get.

Well, unless you count the fact that today's post is all about wrecked balls. Call it a subconscious thing. Or my way of getting way too much mileage out of some good-natured ribbing.

So...

Balls.

They come in all shapes, sizes, and colors. But no matter what, balls have at least one thing in common: they're generally supposed to be more round than lumpy:

Now that's just nutty.

One exception, of course, is the football, which is shaped more like a loaf of bread with harp strings:

I guess some balls are just more likely to touchdown than others.

I'm told this is either a soccer ball or a steamrolled panda:

Ain't that a kick to the head?

And don't get me STARTED on this "basketball:"

Slam dunk? More like a Slam FLUNK. 

[rimshot!]

Sometimes it helps to put your balls with other related pieces of equipment. That way people will know how to handle them.

All that's missing is third base. 

And of course no discussion of balls is complete without...um...hang on. Is this what I think it is?

It is!

Bakers, you should be ashamed of yourselves.

That flaming basketball is totally not to scale!

(So tell me, players: Do you experience a burning sensation when you dribble?)

Thanks to Natalie B., Dolores T., Rachel J., Erica B.,  Heather F.,  & Lauren P.,  who will no doubt agree that if John's going to sit and play Xbox for 27 hours straight, he should probably get some looser boxers.

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Relevant Amazon link is relevant:

Do You Want To Play With My Balls?

This is apparently a "children's book parody for adults," but claims you can read it to the kiddos, too, provided you can keep a straight fact. Ha!

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And from my other blog, Epbot:

Grim Prospects

Ever get the feeling something bad is about to happen?

You know, just a general, inexplicable feeling of foreboding?

And then people start giving you strange advice?

Or acting like they know something you don't?

Regret is a dish best served cold...
so two scoops of ice cream, please.

Sometimes it's just a subtle emphasis on a word, or an odd visual aid:

Other times it's more direct:

(I'd pay up if I were you, Patrice.)

Still, even if it's all in your head, it's good to know that some things, at least, are never a bad sign.

Right, Lucky?

Aw, don't look so Grimm, boy; we know you're not Sirius.

Thanks to Cindy S., Jena P., Monica S., Jennifer H., Meghan R., Alicia A., & Alisa B. for the Harry situation.

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P.S. And for those of you who really lean into the Grim Aesthetic:

Curio Coffin Shelf
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And from my other blog, Epbot: