Simon Collinson

Tommy

My local hospital, the Countess of Monte Clueless infirmary is useless, they’re always messing things up. You go in with one thing and come out with something else, they mix up corpses, take out the wrong organs or they leave something inside your body like a watch, a phone or a Staph infection.

I had to go in there for surgery for bladder cancer. You lose all modesty in that procedure. But at least they didn’t have to cut me open as they went through another opening to reach my bladder.

I came out all sore and tender but the cancer was removed and this time I didn’t have a postop infection.

I was recovering well in the weeks that followed. I thought I was ok. That was until I heard a voice from below.

It was a deep and distinctive voice, not like my thin reedy voice at all. And it was coming from below. Oh no, they’ve not left a phone in my belly again? That was my first thought.

But it was worse than that, those idiots at the hospital had only left me with a talking testicle, the left one.

My left testicle was telling me to get a shower. Told me I reeked.

I checked for lumps but this time I was ok, it was just I had a testicle that was talking to me. And it wouldn’t shut up.

It told me its name was Tommy, Tommy the talking testicle. There were problems at first.

It was difficult going to the toilet when you had this testicle jabbering away non stop and singing too, and worse whenever I was talking to someone it kept butting in. How rude.

I was all for having it removed, but then I found Tommy the testicle started coming in handy.

You see I’ve always been shy and awkward around females. I go all silent and quiet when I see someone I fancy. Tommy could see I was stumbling so it was giving me advice on how to date women. You know what to wear, what spray to use, where to take them on dates and most importantly what to say.

You see Tommy the testicle had the gift of the gab when it came to members of the opposite sex and it had a lovely speaking voice that seemed to melt all my dates hearts. I left all the talking to Tommy on dates. Tommy could throw its voice so it didn’t come across too weird. 

I could just sit back, relax and let my left testicle do all the talking. This worked fine when I was out on a date, though my dates thought it odd when I spent a lot of time looking down at my pants.

Some people talk a lot of balls, but I found I was listening to mine and I have to admit Tommy was a smooth talking testicle.

Yes, I got a lot more dates, but I couldn’t keep them. The women left me when they heard my real voice which was more tinny than Tommy’s. It was becoming apparent that my talking testicle had more pizazz and personality than me.

It started grating on me. Did the women really like Tommy rather than me? Could I ever have a lasting relationship where there were effectively three of us involved, with me looking like the third bicycle wheel?

 My family all loved Tommy. My mother adored it. She would spend hours talking to Tommy when she came to visit. She’d just ignore me.  I felt like a spare part. Mother told Tommy that I was such a bore. It irritated me that family and friends would always be asking me, “How’s Tommy” and they would send Tommy birthday cards and presents, and not send me anything.

 My mother told me as she was leaving, “Why can’t you be more like Tommy?”

I was finding out that life is a pain and a tragedy when everybody prefers your talking left testicle to you.

Tommy was also irritating me. It was such a know it all, and it was also critical of my habits and appearance, and was always pulling me up every day.

I was starting to  loath and hate my talking testicle. People were now calling me “Tommy’s minder.”

Was that it? Was that to be my role in life, merely the receptacle for my overconfident testicle?

It was on my mind, the prospect of living in the shadow of my talkative testicle, until I couldn’t stand it any longer. Tommy would have to go, surgically of course.

I would live the rest of my life with one, silent, testicle.

So I booked myself a procedure at the local hospital.

The procedure was quick and painless, I awoke. And the doctor informed me the op was a complete success. I was overjoyed, I would be free of Tommy the talkative testicle forever.

Later that day I got home and sat down rather carefully, but then a voice boomed upwards from my pants, it was yelling at me, “Its Tommy here, You stupid berk, you’re stuck with me forever, you don’t have the balls to get rid of me, Tommy the talking testicle, and I’ve got lots to say…”

It’s that awful hospital’s fault. That bungling lot at the Countess of Monte Clueless infirmary had gone and taken away the wrong bollock. They really balled up this time, whipping away my well behaved right testicle and leaving me stuck with Tommy the talking Testicle forever.