To the Artist's Page                    To our home page

To Clint Venezuela's previous piece     To Clint Venezuela's next piece

Christina Aguilera Ate My Left Testicle

I'm in the White Cockroach standing outside the door marked LADIES when I see Billy Vagina approaching.

"Hey, Dumbfuck," he says, "why are you standing outside the door marked LADIES?"

I wait a moment before I reply. Looking him directly in the eyes I say, "I'm waiting for Christina Aguilera to finish taking a dump."

"Christina Aguilera is in the White Cockroach??" he fumes.

"She is. And she's taking a dump right now."

"Hey, wait," Billy Vagina says, "just why are you waiting for her to finish taking a dump, Dumbfuck?"

Now I am in a quandary. Is it wise to explain to Billy Vagina just why I am waiting for Christina Aguilera to finish taking a dump? Am I willing to trust my neighbor with this vital secret? I gaze at his face, his thin mouth spread out wide like a horizontal vagina, gleaming with wetness.

"Do you believe in aliens?" I whisper to him.

"Well I've seen Men In Black two times so I guess I do."

"Okay," I say, "then I'll tell you. This is why I am standing outside the door marked LADIES waiting for Christina Aguilera to finish taking a dump."

I was on my way to the library to return the book I had borrowed, which was Impossible Encounters by Zoran Zivkovic, when I decided to take a short cut through the woods, mainly in order to avoid Mr Pussikeskus who had recently swallowed his bicycle and had become obsessed with discussing this.

I happened to veer away from the main pathway and in a clearing I came upon a spaceship and two funny-looking aliens. The aliens were staring at me as though my zipper was undone, and I checked to make sure I wasn't unintentionally flashing my genitals at them. I wasn't.

"Who are you?" I asked.

"We are two funny-looking aliens," they replied in unison.

"Where did you come from?"

"An unknown planet."

"Which one?"

"We don't know. The planet is unknown even to us."

"What are your names?"

"I'm Zag, and this is Zag," said the first alien.

"You have the same names? Isn't that confusing?"

"Do we appear confused?"

"Not really. How long have you been here?"

"We have no concept of your time cycles as yet."

"Is that your spaceship?"

"Well it certainly isn't a replica of the Taj Mahal."

"I see you've picked up on human sarcasm pretty quickly."

"Thank you."

"So why have you come here?"

"We crashed. We were on our way to the planet Polycarp Kusch for coffee and donuts when we ran out of fuel and ended up here."

"Tough shit."

"We have limited knowledge of human excrement but if you say so we'll take your word for that."

"Okay, so what's the plan?"

"We need fuel."

"Easy. There's a gas station a half a mile from here."

"We don't use gas as you know it. We use a different form of fuel."

"You don't say? So what is it you use?"

"On your world you refer to them as oranges."

My legs turned to blancmange and I felt an odd shiver run through my entire self.

"Oranges?" I gasped.

"Yes. Can you get some for us?"

"Wow, hey, no way. I have an unnatural fear of oranges. Those orange bastards fucked with my mind and soul and there's no way in the world I'm gonna get some for you."

The first alien then took out a ray gun and pointed it at me, an uneasy grin across his funny-looking face.

"Care to change your mind?" he said.

"Okay, okay. Where do you usually get your fuel?"

"The planet Orange."

"Sounds like a hideous place. I obviously can't go there, can I? I'll have to get some from the market. How many do you need?"

"About half a dozen will get us to Polycarp Kusch."

"Is that all?"

"Yes."

"What if I say no and tell you to fuck off and carry on to the library with my copy of Impossible Encounters by Zoran Zivkovic?"

The first alien didn't say anything, he just waved his ray gun around in the air menacingly.

"That might just be a toy," I said.

The alien then pointed the ray gun at a nearby squirrel and pressed the trigger. There was a silent flash and the squirrel disappeared.

"Where did it go?" I asked.

"The planet Orange," said the alien with a chuckle.

"Fucking hell. I better go get the oranges then, huh?"

"Yes. But you might just go and not come back."

"That's true," I said.

"So you require an incentive to return here."

"What kind of incentive?"

The funny-looking aliens began to babble to each other in a strange language that consisted of eerie whistles, squawks and farts. Then they both turned their attention back to me.

"Okay, we have an incentive," they told me in unison. "We know what all human males desire."

"What's that?"

"Sex."

"You could be right there."

"We are right. And for sex the human male needs a partner. Which female would you desire for a sexual encounter?"

I didn't need to ponder over that one. "Christina Aguilera," I said, "but there's no way in the world you'll get her to come here and have sex with me."

The first alien pointed his ray gun at a nearby horny toad and pressed the trigger. There was a silent flash and then to my astonishment Christina Aguilera was standing in the clearing.

"Fucking hell!" I yelled.

"Exactly," said the funny-looking aliens. "So you get the oranges and when you get back Christina Aguilera will give you a blowing job."

"You mean a blowjob," I said.

"Whatever."

"It's a deal."

I started to make my way out of the clearing when suddenly the funny-looking aliens called me back.

"What is it?" I asked.

"We require another item," they said in unison. "We require a copy of The Kafka Effekt by D Harlan Wilson."

"How do you know about that?"

"It's the most talked about book in the universe."

"Talked about even more than The Bible by all those holy folk?"

"Yes."

"What's in it for me?"

"We will give you a secret message."

"What secret message?"

"It's a secret."

"Bastards."

So once again I set off out of the clearing and found the pathway and made my way out of the woods. Obtaining the oranges was going to be a major problem for me, but the idea of Christina Aguilera giving me a blowjob was impossible to resist. With this in mind I tentatively approached the city centre and the fruit market.

I was standing gazing at the fruit stalls, attempting to pluck up the courage to approach one of them, when I noticed Mr Zakarpatska walking by without his dog.

"Hi, Mr Zakarpatska," I said with an invented joviality.

"Hello, Dumbfuck," he replied.

Mr Zakarpatska lives in the same apartment block as me and so I know him quite well, but not his dog.

"Where are you going?" I asked.

"The abattoir."

"Why, do you work there?"

"No, I just like looking at blood and guts and dead animals."

"Cool. Will you do me a favor?"

"What is it?"

"Go and get me maybe half a dozen oranges."

"Is that all? Why don't you go?"

"I have an allergy."

"Fair enough. So what's in it for me?"

"What do you want?"

"Okay, if I get the oranges will you let me sleep with your wife?"

"Do you mean sleep as in sleep or do you mean having a sexual liaison?"

"A sexual liaison."

"My wife is available for a sexual liaison at any time."

"Yes, but I don't want to pay the twenty dollars."

"I can arrange that if you get the oranges."

"Excellent."

"However I need a second favor if I agree to this condition."

"What second favor?"

"Your copy of The Kafka Effekt by D Harlan Wilson."

"Awwww, man, I've only read it twelve times."

"Isn't twelve enough?"

"Certainly not."

"It's the book or no sexual liaison."

Mr Zakarpatska slipped his hand into his jacket and produced his copy of The Kafka Effekt by D Harlan Wilson which he handed over to me. He then wandered off among the fruit stalls and I watched as he purchased maybe half a dozen oranges. I knew that I would have difficulty in taking them back to the funny-looking aliens but my mind was set on achieving the feat. Presently Mr Zakarpatska returned carrying a small paper bag containing maybe half a dozen oranges. I shuddered as I took them from him, then nodded at him before I set off once again for the woods and the spaceship and the funny-looking aliens.

When I got back the alien with the ray gun was shooting baby frogs in a nearby pond. One second they were leaping and splashing around the next they were gone, vanished to the planet Orange or some other awful place, I don't know.

"I got the oranges," I said, handing the other alien the paper bag. I then glanced around, and spotted Christina Aguilera huddled beside a prickly hedgerow. "What's wrong with her?" I asked.

"Zag told her that her latest single is rubbish," said the second alien.

I realized that these guys were pretty mean dudes and that I had to be rid of them soon.

"Okay," I said, "I got the oranges, and a copy of The Kafka Effekt by D Harlan Wilson." I took out the book that Mr Zakarpatska had given to me and offered it to the alien, who took it and started to flick through the pages eagerly.

"Excellent," he said.

Then the other alien with the ray gun handed me a small note. "Don't look at this until we are gone, okay?" he warned. "It's the secret message we promised."

"Groovy. So what about the blowjob?"

The alien snapped his stubby fingers and Christina Aguilera crawled over to me. Without a word she unzipped me and grabbed my limp member. I felt an absurd tingle swim through my veins, and my penis started to come to life. The aliens disappeared into the spaceship through an open hatch which slowly closed. I heard a tinny churning sound followed by a tremendous roar that appeared to alarm Christina Aguilera terribly. She was licking my testicles and the sudden fright caused her to bite down on to my scrotum and my left testicle was ripped clean off. I screamed and screamed as she looked up at me with my bloody testicle hanging from between her lips. The spaceship lifted from the ground and zoomed away into the clouds as Christina Aguilera swallowed my gonad and hurried off into the woods.

My agony slowly subsided, and as I pondered on a future with only one testicle I opened up the note that the aliens had given to me. A simple message was displayed in bold letters across the centre of the sheet.

I have a message for you

I cried out in frustration as I beat the ground with my fists. And that's the story of how Christina Aguilera ate my left testicle.

"That's weird," says Billy Vagina.

"I guess it is," I say.

"So how do you know Christina Aguilera is in there taking a dump?"

"I followed her here. She's definitely in there, I can tell you."

Billy Vagina stares at the door marked LADIES for a few seconds, as if assessing something of a paranormal nature, like Fox Mulder before his character became boring (zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.)

"So let me get this straight," he says at last. "You plan to wait until Christina Aguilera has finished taking a dump and then sneak in there and sift through her shit and find your left testicle. Am I correct?"

"You are."

"And then you aim to take this missing testicle and somehow get it reattached. Am I correct?"

"You are. I'll see Dr Zagduma, he'll recommend someone."

"It's a good idea," says Billy Vagina, "except for one thing."

"What's that?"

"Christina Aguilera will flush away the evidence, won't she?"

I instantly start to panic. He is right! Christina Aguilera will destroy her shit and my testicle with it, flushing it all away into the sewers where I will never find it. I'll be compelled to a life with just one gonad. Oh shit, no!

I dash beyond the door marked LADIES and quickly study the cubicles. As I do this one of the doors opens and a female appears. However it isn't Christina Aguilera, it is someone else entirely.

"Who are you?" I gasp.

"Angelina Jolie. Who are you?"

I don't reply, instead I gaze at her and realize that this surely is Angelina Jolie.

"Are you really Angelina Jolie?" I ask.

"Yes I am."

"Well to tell you the truth I have always suspected that you are really Jon Voigt in drag and that your entire existence is a sham."

"That's bollocks."

"And speaking of bollocks, have you seen Christina Aguilera?" I say.

She shakes her head, and as she does so I spot a young dark-haired man leap into the cubicle she has stepped out of. I watch as he sinks to his knees and thrusts his hands into the bowl. I hadn't noticed him before but I intend to find out exactly who he is and what he is doing beyond the door marked LADIES. I approach him, and Angelina Jolie's shit-smell hits me right in the nostrils. Then the man begins to chortle and gets up swiftly, and turns around to face me. His hands are filled with Jolie-shit, and yet among this brown stuff is what I can only describe as a left testicle. My nerves tense up immediately upon spotting this.

"Who are you?" I demand.

"John Edward Lawson. Who are you?"

"John Dumbfuck. And you have my left testicle!"

"No I don't, it's mine."

"It's mine, you bastard!"

"Wait! Did Angelina Jolie eat your left testicle too?"

"What? No, it was Christina Aguilera, she ate my left testicle."

"That's tough, man. Never trust a female celebrity."

John Edward Lawson then darts out of the room and I am left still minus my left testicle. My mind is spinning and my nerves are all over the place. Angelina Jolie is washing her hands in the sink and the world is turning, turning, turning. Everything is akin to an everlasting nightmare. Then a quiet sound interrupts my thinking. It's coming from the last sink in the corner of the room. I march over and peer into the bowl, where a horny toad gapes up at me and lets out a throaty croak.

Afternote (1)

I'm walking along the street when I see Babylonius Orgasm approaching. He spots me and gives me an enormous smile. I don't return it to him.

"Hey, Dumbfuck," he says when he reaches me. "Guess what I have inside my bag?"

I gaze at the black holdall he is carrying, deep in thought.

"Kevin Donihe's ass cheeks?" I say.

"No, I don't have Kevin Donihe's ass cheeks in my bag. I have Anna Kournikova's armpits!"

He zips the bag open and there they are, Anna Kournikova's armpits, right next to the alien's head. The armpits look adorable, and I can detect a soft sweet smell, something like an exotic skin perfume especially manufactured to tackle that hideous tennis perspiration.

"That's incredible," I say.

He zips the bag closed and smirks at me.

"Wanna guess what's in my bag?" I ask.

Babylonius Orgasm is instantly enthusiastic. "Justin Timberlake's voice box?" he says.

"No."

I unzip my own bag and show him what I have.

"What is it?" he asks as he peeks inside there.

"Angelina Jolie's left testicle."

"Huh? But. Angelina Jolie is a woman."

"Wanna bet?" I chuckle.

I zip up the bag, and one second later a tennis ball whizzes past us, almost hitting Babylonius Orgasm on the right temple.

"Hey, I gotta go," he murmurs, "having Anna Kournikova's armpits can be pretty dangerous. Later, dude."

He skips off down the sidewalk, and I carry on, feeling satisfied that beyond that door marked LADIES I had seized the opportunity to prove to myself and others that Angelina Jolie was really Jon Voigt in drag.

Afternote (2)

I'm sitting at the bar in the White Cockroach drinking bitter shandy after bitter shandy. There's a large bandage where my left testicle ought to be and it's still smarting like hell down there. The room is rotating and the walls are giggling at me again. I sink the remains of my glass down my throat and hand it across to the barman Szmonhfu.

"Another bitter shandy please," I say.

"Coming right up, Dumbfuck."

Szmonhfu is a large man with a bald head who looks as if he ought to be in the WWF, and I don't mean the World Wildlife Federation. Thinking again, maybe I do.

He hands me another full glass and says, "Dumbfuck, you look deeply troubled. What happened to you?"

"Don't ask."

"Too late, I just did."

"Okay."

So I tell him the whole tale about the aliens and Christina Aguilera and the missing testicle. It's a relief to get it off my chest and when I'm finished my glass is empty again and I require a further top-up. Szmonhfu starts to chuckle.

"What are you laughing at?" I ask.

"The aliens," he says. "You mean Zag and Zag, don't you?"

"Yes. Have you met them?"

"I thought everyone knew about them. They aren't aliens at all, they're students from the university in Stink City."

"What? But they are so funny-looking!"

"They're inbreeds from Mississippi. And they're in the Magic Circle, experts in making things disappear, like frogs and squirrels."

"Shit!"

"They fly around in a strange-looking helicopter-type thing, and they eat nothing but oranges."

"What a fool I've been! But wait. how could they make Christina Aguilera appear from out of nowhere?"

"Christina Aguilera? That wasn't Christina Aguilera. It was Zag and Zag's sister, Katatonia, the mistress of disguise."

"What? You mean she disguised herself as Christina Aguilera?"

"She must have done. And she's a testicle eater."

"Really?"

"Sure."

"Wait. you could be lying. This is all a pile of crap, man. Do you expect me to believe this rubbish?"

Szmonhfu seems quite aggrieved at this outburst. He lifts the hatch and comes out from behind the bar, a serious and deadly expression on his stony face. I become quite afraid when he unzips his trousers and pulls them down to his knees. Then he hauls his boxer shorts down a little and I gasp. His penis is huge, but it's the absence of a left testicle that causes me to cry out.

"She wasn't Christina Aguilera when she did this," he tells me, "she was Liv Tyler."

Afternote (3)

Here I am sitting in my apartment on the sofa I don't remember us having. Mrs Dumbfuck is in the bedroom entertaining Mr Zakarpatska, because I'm a man of my word and don't let anyone tell you otherwise. Behind me the budgie begins to squawk, and I don't recall its name so I get up and walk into the bathroom. It's still there, sitting in the bath tub; the horny toad.

"Come on, Horny," I plead, using the nickname I've supplied.

The horny toad just gapes at me, its large eyes unblinking. I go back into the lounge and pick up the phone. I stab a few numbers and listen to the ring tone at the other end. Someone picks it up and I recognize the voice that belongs to Anus Ignatowski.

"Hello?" he says.

"It's Dumbfuck."

"Hello, Dumbfuck. How's the testicle?"

"Still missing."

"Not very cool."

"No."

"What can I do for you?"

"What do you know about horny toads?"

"A little. Be more specific."

"Like how long before they take a dump?" I ask.

To the top of this page