Truck Nuts
I saw them again today: truck nuts. No, I am not talking about people who REALLY like their trucks; I am talking about people who have attached a set of nuts just under the trailer hitch of their truck. I am talking about trucks with balls, cojones, huevos, stones, James and the Giant Peaches (minus James), manberries, testes, Jimmy’s Fun Sack, family jewels, or the scrotum synonym of your choice. This is only the second time I have seen them. The first time, I was behind a very large truck. It had a chrome nut sack that drew my eye along their parabolic path as they pendulously swung before me. I was instantly fascinated with them, and not just because I am a big homo. They possessed an ineffable quality that somehow transcended their blatant sexuality. Plus, they were shiny. The pair I saw today was quite different: just a small red plastic affair on the back of an equally small and red pickup truck. They put me in mind of a mongrel dog: they had no transcendence, only a bald maleness not frequently seen in our (or at least not my) society today. I almost honked so I could ask him where he got them. But the thought of asking a man, because you know it weren’t no woman behind the wheel, where he acquired his truck nuts required more cool than I could summon in my postprandial, pre-work daze.
