Your balls, sir.

Iconoballs

2009-01-21T08:35:00.000-08:00

Because balls are just unsightly taint ornaments unless you use them, we at Your Balls, Sir, think it’s important to present examples of balls in action.

This is a man who didn’t think race or experience could stand in his way.

A man who looked at a country, the way a doctor would look at a patient festering with herpes and Jennifer Lopez CDs, and said, “Yes, I shall heal you!”

A man whose audacity runs so deep, inaugural parties are named after the pair of marbles tucked snuggly in his sack.

Because when balls swing from your crotch like church bells loud and proud, they announce to the entire world, no matter what the challenge, client, or missing logo, "Yes we can!"

People who make ball jokes are also A-OK with team Balls.

Balls? Or a metaphor?

2009-01-15T09:35:00.000-08:00

It’s the time of day when you get off facebook and superglue these funballs to your empty nut pocket!

Oh sure, I know they look like Bocce Balls. Something fun to throw and play and WEEEEEE! Sorta like your job once looked, no?

Remember back to those job gettin’ days, when all your friends sold their souls to plastics and long term care insurance?

But you were different. Special. For you were kind of a crappy drawer – an untalent that gave you license to at least be around creativity. If you can’t do it, sell it, right? Fun! Whoopee! But not only are you not selling shit, you’re back at my desk trying to change my precious brainchild into fucking Corky.

You think your fancy suit-bag sales friends fucking refashion the product they peddle, or do they reach into the vacuum where their brain is supposed to be and figure out how to keep their job?

They should put you on commission and let the invisible hand smack you in the face.

Have a nice day, you fucks.

2009-01-12T07:13:00.000-08:00

Maybe you notice that these balls are smilin’.

Because that’s what happens when you remember who you work for, and tell that little junior marketing douche what is fucking what. Work is good. Vibes are peachy. PEOPLE THINK TWICE ABOUT STUFFING HERPES IN YOUR EYEBALLS. You wanna know the secret to happiness, you empty crotch face? Take these balls, and call me when you’re not a worthless piece of shit.

oral masochism

2009-01-09T07:43:00.000-08:00

The best thing about having balls is the ability to tell a client to suck ‘em.

And my guess is, schlurpin’ on dees nuts de jour would be like Igor the Hut hurling a flail at your gums.

So, if you were to say something to the effect of, “Listen you fucking pink Izod shirt, we’re going with the spot as is, or you can suck on this pair of porcupines,” I'll think twice about sending Igor after YOUR career destroying, lumpy ass.

missing their sack, but balls nonetheless.

2009-01-07T11:45:00.000-08:00

ball-less can't be choosers. there ain't no ball store. no ball cash. no ball waiter who visits your fancy pants table and asks, "how would you like your fucking balls cooked, sir?"sack or not, you accept my fucking silver platter charity with a smile and GO SELL SOME SHIT.

see, even mickey mouse has balls. get on that shit.

balls! it's what's for dinner.

2009-01-06T11:07:00.000-08:00

Take a trip to a Bozu in Williamsburg and have them serve you a sack of courage otherwise known as fried octopus balls.

Maybe you want to fuse them to your skin with a blow torch. Maybe you want to print out this photo and tape it to your crotch. Maybe you want to eat them, in hopes they'll be like seeds that sprout a whole new leaf in the way you handle clients. There are octopuses out their sacrificing their lives for you, AE! Get off Facebook and get to ballin'!

Seek, and ye shall find ye nuts.

2009-01-05T11:25:00.000-08:00

“Be a man.”

“Grow a pair.”

“Get some balls, you wanking tosser!”

As long as there's been advertising, there've been account people crumbling like school girls in the sight of the client. And while we creatives may beg over and over…and over for you to sprout a fucking sack already, our ideas still fall to chilling deaths by your hand. But here we are bursting forehead capillaries over your anatomy, when it is actually we who wear the crazypants. Because isn’t insanity defined as expecting different results from the same old method?

My friends, the time to break the cycle has arrived. Oh yes, you may indeed ride the shortbus down the road of bravery. Fairness may hate you. DNA may have failed you. Tumbleweeds may drift across the empty skin where your sack should hang. But, I say to you, account men and women of the world, welcome to a new season of hope. Can we change the face of advertising for generations to come? Can we turn your take-it-up-the-ass style of client liaising, into one that rips off the client’s fancy pants and gives him a thrust of his own medicine? Say it with me, “Yes we can!”

From the shanty gutters of Brooklyn, to the glittering high rises of NYC, I shall search high and low for what nature has so cruelly denied you. So help me God who art in heaven, thy kingdom will come! For I will find your balls. And on each occasion when I make my selfless discoveries, I will post them here. Real live cojones. Quivering in their boundless potential. Yours to keep, use and conquer the world.

Your thank you letters are not necessary. The opportunity to validate your paycheck is reward enough. Just knowing you’ll be out there, freshly discovered sack in hand, striding into meetings, proving your worth is greater than a sack of turds ablaze, makes this little writer tingle in her underpants, right there in her nutsack.

And now….to the balls!