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the permission form sent home from Yandish Muff aloft.
    “Men, today is one of tremendous import. The sickening spectacle of scrotal discrimination reached a grisly low earlier this week, when my precious Alex handed me this permission form.”
    Hedging waved the form about hypnotically, eliciting a quiet awe from the group.
    “Upon reading this form, what do you think I saw?”
    The men shook their heads, wondering what the form could possibly contain.
    “It was a blatant case of anti-scrotal advocacy, of course! It would appear that the principal of Yandish Muff feels it appropriate to subject his grade four students to an especially nasty demonstration, fuelled solely by his own prejudice and hate. That’s right, fellow Scroats, later this week, the students at Yandish Muff will be forced to witness the live popping of a human scrotum!”
    The gasps of shock spiralled from the men in the room. One went as far as to tuck his scrotum back into his pants, presumedly as a misguided defensive measure. He was asked to leave the Scroats immediately, which he did without question.
    When the unexpected ousting had finished and everyone’s nerves were a little calmer, Hedging continued.
    “And so, what do we do about it? Do we sit here with our nads dangling while our children are turned into mindless haters by agenda-driven fundamentalists? Or do we pump our chests, storm the fort and proclaim the scrotum a prejudice-free zone?”
    The men cheered, deeply swayed by Hedging’s strong, passionate words. They formed a tight circle and rubbed their scrotums together gently. This was conducted in a way that avoided homosexual overtones of any sort. It was a potentially sexual act devoid of sexuality, like a Moyle biting off a foreskin, like fellatio from your cousin, like an enema from your family doctor.
    Hedging signalled for his wife and son to enter the garage. They were holding musical instruments. Tina held a banjo in one hand and a 12-string acoustic guitar in the other. Alex struggled with a double bass, double his size. The Scroats looked on in confusion.
    “Gentlemen, my family and I would like to perform a song for you all, infused with an intoxicating blend of folk and country elements. I think you’ll find the harmonies rather delicate. For the sake of branding, we are known as Hedging Littlepop and the Family Littlepops.”
    The Scroats cheered and danced as the Family Littlepops began to play.
     
    * * * * *
     
    Mr Wilkens sat in silence, guilt assailing him in violent waves. He had focused so intently on the principles surrounding the decision to remove his scrotum that it hadn’t occurred to him to tell his wife. It had become painfully obvious that she was concerned. It was written all over her face. Several years ago Tina Wilkens had adopted the habit of writing her current emotional situation on her face with an easily removable array of organic inks. It wasn’t unusual for the emotional scrawl to be updated over 30 times in one day. For the past week however, the words gravely concerned had remained. A quick glance at Tina’s chin revealed the cause of her concern: no sexual activity . Mr Wilkens regretted the lack of sexual tomfoolery but he didn’t know how Tina would respond to his de-balling. He had come so close to dropping his strides on several occasions, but just as the belt was loosening, he would quickly tighten it back up. It couldn’t remain unspoken for much longer and Mr Wilkens knew it. If he could just buy a little more time, perhaps after the demonstration, then it would all be okay.
    But he wasn’t afforded this time. Tina had to speak up, “What’s going on, Spence? You’ve been so distant lately. I feel as if we’re drifting apart.”
    Tina’s eyes welled with tears that slowly snaked down her cheeks, smudging the facial scrawl. Mr Wilkens bit his lower lip, attempting to find the right words. Tina lunged toward him, placing her hands firmly on either shoulder and began to