Manberry's Law

Shortly after uploading my previous post I got some interesting feedback. Particularly, of all the content of that post, regarding my assertion that myself and other Australian men typically possess more than the two testicles standard to the rest of the world. And, by extension, the heightened risk of testicular cancer that would accompany such crotch-endowment. I began to respond, citing the well-known Manberry Theorum that deals with this matter. Instead, however, I'm choosing to expound the entirety of Manberry's Law to you, my strange, twisted readership.

Manberry's Law

1st Premise: As an individual's Testes Count (nT) increases (see figure 1), there is a direct linear increase in the potential risk of cancerous cell growth (pC).

2nd Premise: As the testes count increases, so increases the subject's capacity to kick death in the face (see Figure 2) so hard that a full-grown human must suddenly pop into existence somewhere in the world just to balance out the universe, a process called Dedeath (ref A. Alpine, Dedeath, Dedying and the Dedead, 1973. pp 51-269), by a factor of 1.26 (rounded).

Representing this data graphically (see figure 3) we can clearly observe these distributions, and from the intercept point conclude that, external factors notwithstanding, the optimum quantity of nuts is roughly 7.

Figure 1: Subject with three balls.

Figure 2: Kicking the fuck out of the Grim Reaper (r. Animae)

Figure 3:

Wait, does the size of the ball matter? Probably! You want me to cover everything? Find anyone more qualified in this field than me. Find ANYONE else qualified. Frankly, this is the most ridiculous branch of science I've ever seen and we're all poorer for having sat through this farsical waste of a $700,000 research grant.

Chatroulette, When A Stranger Calls

So, in my inimitable style of jumping on bandwagons mere seconds before they wheel away into irrelevance, I checked out chatroulette last night. If you’re even later to the party than me, it’s a website that anonymously connects two strangers with webcams from anywhere in the world. There’s no login, no usernames, just a text window (in which you receive the generic appellations Stranger, and You), a window showing your own webcam output, and a window showing that of potentially anyone in the world. The only other notable feature is the prominent “Next” button, which instantaneously disconnects from your current partner and randomly connects you to another. In practice, this happens very rapidly, giving a strong impression that you’re sitting in a figurative roulette wheel. And what you see in this fleeting progression of live images is mostly dicks.

While in my brief foray I did see my fair share of wang, mostly in extreme close up that the only other visible region of their owners were their sagging paunches wobbling vigorously to the rhythm of frantic masturbation. A couple of these phalli even came attached to bodies otherwise ostensibly female. And there were a nice young couple from Portugal, a lovely gentleman from France and a Sicilian mailman whose broken English stood only slight impedance to what was a very friendly conversation. See? It’s not all bad.

One strange American fellow caught my attention in an exchange I felt had to be recorded. After the initial pleasantries, the greeting and ‘where are you from?’, he put forth the notion that there are not enough dicks on Chatroulette.

Here is the log starting from that point, unabridged but for my addition of italics for ease of reading.

Stranger: I hear they have big dicks in Australia

You: Yes, yes we do.

You: So how’s the weather in Virginia?

Stranger: I wanna see yours gaga

Stranger: haha*

You: You what? You want to see my dick?

Stranger: Yeah

You: You realise you’re on Chatroulette. If you want to see a dick just hit Next, I’m literally the only male on this site wearing pants.

Stranger: I’ll show you mine

Stranger: I’ve never seen an Aussie one tho

You: Well they’re just like everyone else’s, except with a few more balls underneath

You: Average is five. I’ve only got four, but that’s the hand genetics dealt me.

Stranger: Just a peek

You: You first

Stranger: Then you’ll show me after?

You: Haha fuck no!

You: Noone sees my shit for free. Not even my wife. True, she only pays a nominal, token fee that I give straight back to her, but it’s the principle.

Stranger: I’ll pay

You: Give me your paypal details and we’ll talk

Stranger holds a green banknote up to his camera

You: Wait, American currency? I don’t want that bullshit

Stranger: Haha true

You: I need euros man. You hold a 10 euro note up to the screen and I’ll whip out my dong right now

Stranger: I don’t have any euros

You: Sorry dude, no euro, no weeno.
NEXT

Ripwick Lane

He looked back up the way where a moment ago Sally were. There not a sound heard, only saw a sign not seen before, standing there by the wall and not a Sally there at all. Surely that sign he would have seen walking past, just before? This street were dark and shadows loom and gloom from buildings tall and grey and dotted with black glass.

That sign it were not there before and of this Bernard he were sure and into the pooling ichor air did Bernard call “Sally, where did you go? You walked beside not a moment ago and now I see not but this sign by the wall”

[RIPWICK LANE]

And into the looming gloom did Bernard stride, announcing purpose with booming call “Sally, where did you go? You walked beside not a moment ago and now I see not but shapeless shapes and looming gloom and eyes that greed and gleam in this narrow place”

Still there not a sound heard but a growing whistling whispering rasp of hungry mouths of things with eyes that greed and gleam on Ripwick Lane.