The 'Cock' Roach: Dads Say the Darnedest Things

Some of you may have read this before on my *other*, slightly more anonymous blog which is now defunct, for others this will be new. What it stems from is the fact that my father in recent years has come to regard my sister and I as his buddies and has started to tell us slightly inappropriate yet hilarious stories. I hope I can remember them all and that I can manage to write them down with efficacy.

Setting the scene, my father, cousin and I are having a spot of tea. Tea is serious business in our family; almost ritualistic in nature, but that doesn't mean that we're ever serious while drinking it. A lot of great conversation in our family is centred around tea-drinking. This day was no exception and netted me not one, but two priceless Dad stories. The other one will follow when I get around to it, dammit!

Back story: My father works at a zoo. Literally, a zoo. So this one fine morning, my father was doing his rounds to check on all the machinery and take readings, etc. such as he always does. As he explained to us, he spied a newspaper in the recycling box in one of the pavilions, and thought that it would be a good idea to take his break and read the said paper -- on the toilet.

Dad is sitting there (and I know, right? Ew! But it gets worse), and when he opened up the newspaper he felt something drop out of it... he looked around on the floor and so on but saw nothing. So by and by he was reading away... when all of a sudden he felt something. In his words, "My lord, there was something tickling my balls!" Squeals of horror from the girls at hearing this! Traumatised!

When my dear father looked down into the toilet to check out what was going on down there, there was a GIANT COCKROACH clinging to his ball hair! Cue more squeals of horror from the girls! Jumping sky-high and trying not to have a heart attack was apparently enough to knock the giant roach off of his balls, allowing him enough time to flush the fucker down before it tried to sexually assault him any further. That'll teach him to read on the john.

I don't know what was worse, thinking about the horror of the giant bug, or the horror of my father talking about his balls. It's a toss-up, really.