KEEK’S SCHWEATY BALLS

“And He’s Got Big Balls. And She’s Got Big Balls … ”

(But we’ve got the biggest balls of them all!)*

The recent obsession with Michael Burg, MD (AKA Medium Michael Burg)’s balls by my Medium and Twitter posse has given me no choice but to don my fanciest sheep costume and dazzle you with my own twisted tale of ball stew. Hoping this helps propel me beyond the purple paisley jaguar — or whatever the eff Gaurav Jain’s new nickname is — in humor and satire again. And again. And again.

Now, you may be wondering — yo, Ki, what up with the 1970s gaucho boots in your featured photo when the title of your story is a lyric from AC/DC’s Big Balls*?

Before I dive in, you should know that about ten years ago I had a short-lived blog called Ballsy Broad.

Not joking. Don’t go looking for it, its digital footprint is wiped clean(ish). Wasn’t that inspired anyway. The point of my telling you this is that in real life, I’m much more introverted than my public “KiKi” persona — who can be a bit more outgoing and ballsy and confident than my true self. And all that jazz. But even with portions of your personality, they all come from deep inside of you — and I can say that when I was a little girl, I was what you would call a sassy, obnoxious, ballsy little broad.

Yeah, no. It’s totally true! (No comments from the peanut gallery, please.)

The gaucho boots? Balls? What does all this have to do with balls? Is this even going to be funny? Right now you’re kind of bringing the vibe way down, Mama.

Malone, NY—1980

(Give me an effin’ break…I’m a Memoirist™️.)

Back in the grey northeastern doom of my shitty little small town, when your Mama Ki was just an itty bitty 10-year-old ballbuster named Kristi, she developed her first taste of obsession. No. Not with balls, you pervs. With the long, sophisticated, zippered, wooden-heeled elegance of what 1970s and 80s Sears catalogs listed as the gaucho boot.

“I’ve got big balls.”

With a freshly divorced dad trying to buy my love—what Kristi wanted…Kristi got. Every Christmas, a big box would appear with a brand new beautiful pair of boots that I could tuck my garage sale pants into.

“I’ve got big balls.”

Hard to believe, I know, but at that age, I could be what the historians have noted as, “an obnoxious, bossy little bitch.” Especially with…the boys.

“And they’re such big balls.”

I went to Flanders Elementary School. It was haunted. Which has no bearing to this story other than it’s a detail. There was a massive playground with some rusty equipment — but mostly a big field that was once an alleged Indian burial ground that we would chase each other around on. Not sure why that was fun, but I’m old and bitter now, so.

After lunch and recess, we would queue up on the grass in front of the parking lot in our respective classroom lines. I would always manage to stand near my crush Matt. Matt was smart with blue eyes and I would try to do internal witchcraft on him so that he would want to “go out with me.” Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean to a 10-year-old.

“Dirty big balls.”

But, I wasn’t the beautiful 3rd grader I once was. And my witchcraft was slow-moving. So to attract Matt’s attention, I had to go with my gutsy, ballsy wit and charm.

When he would say something challenging in line, I’d warn him. “Matt, I’m warning you — don’t do that again! Don’t say that again! You don’t want to cross me!”

The boys would laugh. Like I was going to do anything.

I’d push my wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of my nose and shift my weight slightly to my left foot. And as they laughed again — he didn’t see it coming.

“And he’s got big balls.”

My wooden-soled, pointed-toe gaucho brick launched directly into his little 10-year-old boy balls. And everyone cheered. Well, Matt didn’t. He kind of fell to the ground writhing and whatnot. But, oh, the power! I couldn’t stop that first time. From then on out, especially if I liked a boy, if he flirted or tried to prove a point, slam with the gaucho…right in the grape pockets. (Matt totally wanted to “go with me,” after that. She shoots, she scores!)

“And she’s got big balls!”

I learned before long that such an action wasn’t good to do. So my literal ball-busting came to an end.

But I still have a love for boots.

And I’m still a ballsy broad — and, boys, I have no problem coming in with a proverbial kick where it counts.

It sounds like I’m in good company though, my friends. I had no idea that I would find such a rich world of balls right here on Medium.

“And we’ve got the biggest balls of them all!”

(But don’t mess with me.)

Sally Prag takes a deeper dive into the topic:

And of course, there’s Michael Burg, MD (AKA Medium Michael Burg) obsessing about balls:

And lastly, Gaurav Jain wishing he could be me. But I don’t have a link to that. Sorry.

And second lastly, I suppose a referral membership whatseewhoseit: