Humpty Dumpty sat on the wall.
Humpty’s friend Clumpty told a funny joke. Humpty’s friend Clumpty told a funny joke...

Class Presentation

I don’t have any genitals, which has made it very hard to make friends in school. Today, we are presenting our research papers in health class, and all the other boys get to walk up to the front of the classroom, pitch-ing massive tents. When it’s my turn, I’ve got nothing: just a pair of front-facing, assless chaps to keep my empty groin aerated in the winter.
Just then, my teacher gets a call
from the carpentry instructor from the Mr. Harrow—I’m needed. My vacant nether region has the texture of sandpaper, making me a useful tool for flattening rough edges of wooden chairs. I wish I could say it tickles or hurts or something, but I feel nothing. I have saved the school hundreds of dollars that they would have spent on an industrial sander.
I wish lunch provided some respite, but it’s hell. Last week, the cafeteria served bratwursts for Oktoberfest, and I tried to fashion genitals out of the classic German delight. It deceived no one. The bratwurst looked absolutely nothing like a penis. It just kind of looked like a sausage.
Today’s different though. Brian, the boy with the tightest skinny jeans and real-life genitals, slips me a note: “Meet at the urinals.” This is a big deal. All of the boys have their most heartfelt conversations at the urinals.
I sneak a full water bottle with
me into the bathroom to create the auditory illusion of urinating. At the urinals, Brian invites me to his Halloween party this weekend and swears me to secrecy; it’s for “cool people only.” He promises I’m not being invited “to entertain the guests as the freak with the sandpaper crotch.” He wants to be my honest-to-God friend.
I text him later: “What time’s the party at, or whatever?” He responds with a dick pic. This is how the boys in my grade communicate. Still unsure of what time the party’s at, I send him a
picture of my groin, hoping that he will clarify. “It’s a sundial,” he writes, highlighting the shadow under his penis. The party is at 11 PM
I show up as a Ken Doll, which seems fitting given my disability, but all the other boys are also dressed as Ken Dolls. I’ve really screwed the pooch this time! The embarrassment tears begin bubbling up, but Brian runs to the door to calm me: “Don’t you get it? We’re dressed as Ken Dolls to celebrate your beautiful physical quirk."
We play Pin the Tail on the Donkey on my numb crotch late into the evening. It’s the greatest night of my life

I don’t have any genitals, which has made it very  hard to make friends in school...

What's Missing

The Red Sox are leading the Yankees in a 2-1 nail-biter going into the ninth inning. Aaron Judge steps up to bat, and—hang on, folks—he’s been shoved out of the way by a buck naked streaker.
It’s garish, it’s nauseating, it’s titillating—hold on a second... It looks like the streaker is putting on more clothes. You can uncover your children’s eyes. In fact, you should uncover their eyes—they need to see this. I don’t know about you folks, but this man has put on more clothes in the last twenty seconds than I have in my entire life.
The streaker is currently wearing 20 pairs of khaki shorts and 17 trendy V necks from our sponsor The Gap. The players are offering their jerseys out of deference to the streaker. And now the police are turning their attention from the streaker to arresting the 52 naked athletes.
Look at that, folks! It’s everyone’s favorite mascot Wally, and he brought a shirt gun with him. The streaker is twisting and turning in the air as Wally fires away. And let me just tell you folks—he has not missed a single shirt. I’m getting word now that the streaker’s name is Dave, based on the crowd shouting “Dave! Dave! Put on more clothes, Dave!”
The crowd is insisting that Dave pitch against the next batter, even though a Purple Heart recipient already threw the ceremonial first pitch. Dave has accumulated so many clothes that he can no longer walk—oh wait, Big Papi is rolling Dave to the pitcher’s mound. He’s the only player who hasn’t been arrested because his Cuban chain is so massive that it covers his privates.
Dave winds up and... It’s a 90-MPH bullet! Dave and the umpire are in a heated argument over whether the pitch counts as a strike. He has now taken the mask and vest from the umpire, adding it to his glob of clothes. You know what that means: Dave has acquired the authority to determine the outcome of this game.
And it’s a Red Sox victory! With that final strike, the Yankees are out, and the Red Sox are your new World Series champions! I’m going down to the field to celebrate with Dave! Hold my clothes, camera guy!

The Red Sox are leading the Yankees in a 2-1 nail-biter going into the ninth inning. Aaron Judge steps up to bat, and—hang on, folks—he’s been shoved out of the way by a buck naked streaker...

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Jake Cahn