I sat next to a specimen in high school who told me girls couldn’t resist him because he had a ten-inch dick, which was a horrifying thought, and one he only shared with me in the idiotic and transparent hope that he could start a rumor to that effect. “Ask anybody!” he urged me. I asked nobody, of course.

He was a stupid but not completely horrible kid, but once he stood up in class and hailed one of his friends by asking him: “Hey man, you wanna go out fightin’ tonight?”

I asked him what he meant by that and he told me that the guys went out behind a local drive-in called Big Bevo and had fights in the parking lot behind it. I couldn’t believe my ears. Just like that? Why? We just like fightin’, he said.

It was like Fight Club except real, I guess, and probably not as intense.

High school for me was not some Hollywood scene of in crowds and out crowds and losers aspiring to be phonies; it was just me, all alone, watching this strange world from as great a distance as I could put between it and myself.

I don’t know about sack-punching, but all of the guys liked to play ‘Slap Nuts,’ which is the same thing but less painful. I learned of the game in the summer of ‘99 and it still baffles me.

The Penis Game is old as the hills and not limited to girls. In fact, it got boring after a while because whenever you heard a group of kids yelling ‘PENIS’ in public, you know they were playing the Penis Game. So we had to switch it up. There was also the Vulva Game, the Clitoris Game, the Testicles Game– basically any names of reproductive bits were eligible to be made into a game. There was even a marching band trip to Disney World where we had these catch phrases that we’d yell all over the park like, CROTCH ROT, GUTTER SLUT, TALLEYWHACKER, ILLWOBBLE.

Yes, it’s retarded, but it’s good times when you’re 15.

I must sadly tell you that I have seen this behavior first hand. About 10 years ago I pushed from my loins the last of 3 baby boys. Ahh, the promise they held to a radical feminist!

Alas, they are now ages 14, 13 and 10 and engage in this sort of behavior. The ‘game’ which is the subject of your post, is actually called “Bag Tag”. Yes, that is honest to goodness what it’s called.

When I first spied my 3 sons smacking each other in the balls I was obviously perplexed and asked them, “What in the hell are you 3 fools doing?”, they stopped laughing (except for the one that was doubled over, he just sort of looked at me) and stared at me with plaintive expressions upon their faces before replying, “We’re playing Bag Tag”.

I simply looked all 3 of them in the eyes (yes, I did this simultaneously with my super mom-o-vision) and told them that ‘Bag Tag’ was not, under any circumstances in the world, allowed to be ‘played’ under my roof.

I then went and poured myself a cup of coffee and added a teaspoon of Kahlua to it before moving to the sofa and pondering this weird ass ‘game’ for several hours.

So yes, there does exist such a game strange as it may be.

While it wouldn’t hurt me too much to see men as an aggregate have their fertility levels artificially and permanantly reduced during the teen years, well, I kind of want stepgrandkids someday. Sue me, I’m selfish.

Anyway, the hammer falls hard if that horse crap ends up happening around the house, and I have yet to hear of any accounts of “Bag Tag” since the oldest has gone on to high school… but I suspect that if it’s gone, some similarly-masochistic “game” has taken its place.

I suspect it’s a subtle dominance-determination mechanism when used among friends (think: subordinate male wolves licking the testicals of the alpha male).

*gasp*

A-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA-HA!!!!

Dipshits.

My F to M son says he really does get a lot more respect now that he’s a man.