Max Protection

When you need expertise on your engine, you got to a mechanic. When you want to know how to decipher HTML, you go to a nerd. When you want sexy pole maneuvers, you go to a stripper. The point is, when you need advice you go to the experts.

But for my problem where do I go for advice? That's a tough one. You see, I get hit in the balls alot. A ton. I get hit enough in the junk that I'm starting to feel like Drago's speed bag. It turns out, my kids are ball hitting ninjas. For the love of god my son can't figure out how the pants go up his legs but he is remarkably adept at popping my junk without a moments hesitation. He's a young William Tell.

There is only one expert that I need and only one place to get it.

The Hossman family is going to Disney World. The place where the ball defenders live.

All those lovable "cast" members that are inside the costumes. Those are the guys that I need to talk to. Who gets hit more in the balls more than those guys? Thousands of kids, all about 3 feet tall, running full tilt toward Mickey's junk. Yes, I know, Mickey is a cartoon and doesn't have junk. But the poor sap that is inside the costume does and that is the guy that I need to talk to.

We decided to take the trip several months ago and since then situation room type planning has been going on, complete with a public disinformation campaign. I have been openly talking to my family of park schedules, what to pack, parade routes. All decoys to the real mission. When they are all asleep, I go to the secret room under the stairs. I light a candle and pull out the diagrams. I have marked where every character is likely to be at at any given time of the day. I have worked the math and gotten percentages on which characters probably have gotten hit in the balls the most. Not Pluto, no one likes Pluto that much. He's a dog, everyones got a dog. He's low on the "I must talk to" scale. Mickey, of course, is high as he probably gets hit in the wang about 20,000 times a day.

There will be others in between that scale. Goofy is kind of low. He's a tall one and a bit to much like Pluto but he has his followers so I'm sure he gets a few heads in the crotch per day. Donald might also be low because his little duck like Buddha belly probably protects him pretty well. However, Chip and Dale must get hit in the junk so much that it has obviously changed their voices. They are lovable, cuddly woodland creatures, I want to hit them in the nuts myself for some reason.

When we get there I am going to seek these professionals out and I am going to discover their secrets. I am going to throw princess costumes and pirate crap at my children to distract them. I'm going to show my wife the way to prince charming and his shower schedule. I'm going to give my mother in law a box of wine.

And when I have disposed of my collateral damage, I am going to very calmly go up to one of the characters and learn their maneuvers. I want the good stuff, not the stuff that every dad already knows. Don't tell me to turn my hips at the last minute of put a leg up. I want to know the inner circle secret. Do they do a karate chop to the neck so fast that no one sees it or remembers it? Do they have some sort of high pitched whistle that only screaming children can hear that distorts their vision and thus throws off their aim? And if so, how do I get one of those? I want to know it all because my balls can't take it anymore. They even get me when I sleep. They climb in bed with us now at about 3:00am. They tell me to scoot over. When I do, they snuggle in just right until they have a leg spasm and whamo, right in the peas and carrots. And when I grunt, they have the audacity to tell me that they love me. It doesn't feel like I'm loved.

And hopefully, if this carefully laid out plan works, then Disney truly will be the place where dreams do come true.

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