Like many of you, I sometimes check my referrals. How are people finding Balls and Walnuts? Well, this morning, someone found me by searching for “testalgia”.
Hmm. I didn’t even know I had written about testalgia, but apparently so. Back in October, a big Technorati slutstravaganza month for yours truly, I concluded a lengthy blogwhoring section with the following:
Awright, awright, that’s enough whoring for the weekend. If I do any more of this, I’ll end up with testalgia. Ask Beth, she knows what it means.
I’ll bet Beth has forgotten all about this, too. Or not.
Testalgia, also known as orchialgia, also known as orchidynia (guys, bet you didn’t know your stones were also orchids!) is commonly known as blue balls or stone ache. With sexual arousal, the genitals engorge with blood. Primarily, this is a venous capacitance effect. In other words, it’s the venous system, not the arterial system, which swells with blood. If orgasm occurs, the vessels relax and everything goes back to normal. If not, then the vessels may remain distended.
According to this Discovery Health Article,
This uneven blood flow causes an increase in volume of blood trapped in the genitals and contributes to the penis becoming erect and the testicles becoming engorged with blood. During this process of vasocongestion the testicles increase in size 25-50 percent.
Wow! I wasn’t imagining it. There’s more:
The condition usually does not last long and the level of pain associated with blue balls is usually minor and can be exaggerated. Most men have been socialized to ejaculate when they get an erection during sexual activity. Failure to ejaculate and to feel orgasm often adds frustration and disappointment to the reality of the physical sensation.
Like hell it’s minor. Guys, back me up on this. Think back to your virginal days, when all you could do was kiss and grope for hours. Felt like you’d been kicked in the nads afterwards, didn’t it?
I learned from Discovery Health that women get stone ache, too. In med school, we were taught that we should be very gentle during that portion of a pelvic exam when we palpated the ovaries. My fingers are too short, so I never did get to feel an ovary. Some women, I could barely reach the cervix. So ended my budding career as a gynecologist.
I would like to conclude this public service announcement with a snip from one of my favorite Country Western songs.
You can tell my arms : Go back into the farm!
You can tell my feet to hit the floor.
You can tell my lips to tell my fingertips,
they won’t be reaching out for you no more.
But don’t tell my balls,
my achy breaky balls
D.
The Indian Institute of Planning and Management (IIPM) story, detailed in full at expressindia.com, has dominated Technorati’s “top searches” board for over a week.
It’s pissing me off. How do you create humorous riffs on an acronym?
Alzheimer’s victim Judith Miller, best known as John Tierney‘s love slave, well, she’s a walking joke. The latest: Judith Miller will be leading the planned Nazi march in Toledo.
I’m kidding. As for Judy Miller‘s memory loss, I wish I were kidding. If that were a joke, it would be in extremely poor taste. Here in the New York Times, she has the nerve to claim she forgot her source. The woman has the credibility of Fletcher Reede.
Awright, awright, that’s enough whoring for the weekend. If I do any more of this, I’ll end up with testalgia. Ask Beth, she knows what it means.
D.