Wherein Bry is a little grossed out, and other things.

I don't understand teenage boys. I didn't understand them when I was a teenager, and I do not understand them now.

When they come into the store, with their shaggy hair and saggy jeans, and proceed to wander around in a surly, belching, swearing, cloud of Axe body spray, I pretty much want to kill them.

And now I am beyond words. I just read an article in the news about "sack tapping," a game played across this great nation by teen boys. A game with consequences leading to pretty much the worst surgery a male can imagine.

Apparently it is great fun for boys to punch each other in the balls, tap the sacks, as they say. But the tapping is going too far, getting out of hand. And it is causing damage to testicles, leading to surgery to remove damaged balls.

(At this point, I hope you are pausing to ask yourselves, is Bry really blogging about sack tapping? And the answer is yes. The reasons are threefold. 1) I wanted you to be as grossed out as I am. B) I wanted to make some commentary about this being "news." And, finally, I am wondering about the legalities of sack tapping the next kid to run up the escalator the wrong way.)

And to leave you on a slightly less disgusting note, here is a story about my brothers and something they did as teenagers.

One night, as was fairly normal, MH and JH went camping with their regular group of guy friends. They got drunk and decided "I Love You, Man!" and decided to cement these feelings by branding each other. They used a hanger to form an infinity sign and heated it in the campfire, then pressed the brand to their biceps, much like you would do to brand a cow.

My mom saw MH's brand and he said he accidentally burned himself. Fast forward a few days to when MH was in his basketball uniform (no sleeves) and my mom realizes that JS (also in uniform) had the same accidental burn in the same spot. I didn't say anything, as with most of their schemes that I knew about ahead of time, I knew it was best to keep my mouth shut.


But I now have a response, 12 years later.

"Well Mom, at least they didn't punch each other in the balls."