Today, I would like to address those of today's Youth who have developed a certain public habit which is just flat annoying the hell out of me.
I am speaking of those boys -- by no means gentlemen, truly -- who feel that they simply can not venture into public without a two-fisted grip on Mr. Happy.
They're every-sodding-where. Groups of them. Standing around with both hands rammed elbow-deep down the front of their trousers.
Listen to me: I have four decades on this dirtball as a male of the species, and I can say with some authority that your wedding tackle is not going to sneak away if you don't keep a firm grip on it. They're going to be there next time you go to the litter box, trust me on this.
Your underwear does a fine job of keeping them warm, they don't need extra bodyheat, nor do they require comforting, and there are three of them down there, so they're not going to get lonely.
Despite what your mother may have told you, the Tallywhacker Fairy does not exist, and is not going to be stealing anything of yours that you don't have a firm grip on.
If you are afraid of him falling off, quit putting him into dangerous places.
And, even if you do fail to heed the last advice, he's going to go through at least four colour changes and shoot up the pain spectrum before detachment occurs, by which time you'll have plenty of advance warning. In other words, it ain't gonna be a surprise, boy.
Any male who can't get from one end of a grocery store to the other without getting a firm grip on the family jewels isn't a man -- he's a child.
A man does not require constant tactile reassurance that gremlins haven't stolen his Bestest Buddy Since Puberty*. A man -- a gentleman -- does not go through society shedding curlies with every handshake, and a gentleman does not force the remainder of society to don gloves before touching public phones, elevator buttons, bank pens, door handles, cans of whole kernel corn, or anywhere else that your arthropod-infested little snot hooks may have been.
I swear to Shiva, if you little perverts don't get your meat-hooks off your goodies, I'm going to take the bigger half of a pool cue and I'm going to start rapping knuckles.
I do hope I am no less than crystal clear on this one.
* Edited because I had my anatomical euphemisms mixed up.