I just read my post entitled “My Balls Itch.”
That reminded me of the time I flew coach from Newark (or New York) to Prague and I ended up with a case of crotch rot fit for a king.
Anyway, somewhere near the Charles Bridge I pantomimed my symptoms to a Chinese pharmacist who sold me a little tube of stuff to rub on my hairy, hanging nutsack.
It had one of those funny Ikea furniture names like Bosporp or Jikki or something like that. I think it came from Hungary.
That stuff worked pretty well, actually.
I was grateful.
And to this very day, I think good thoughts about the Czech Republic and China and Hungary every time I think about my itchless scrotum.