There once was a pro football player called Smithers, whose main role was warming the bench. Every game he would put on his pads, smear his cheeks with charcoal, don his helmet and run out onto the field with the rest of the ream;but play after play, game after game, season after season went by without Smithers ever being called into action.
One saturday near the end of the season Smithers was feeling lousy. "Helene," he asked his long time girlfriend, "I want you to do me a favor. Dress up in my uniform, smear your faqce, put on my helmet, and sit on the bench or me this game. You know I never play, and nobody'll ever know"
Helene required some additional convincing but finally agreed, and sure enough, no one on Smither's team never gave her the time of day. The first half passed with out event; she hung out in the locker room during halftime; the third quarter went by smoothly, and it wasn't until the last quarter that one man after another started falling to injuries. The bench grew emptier and emptier and finally in desperation, the coach barked "Smithers, get in there!"
Rather panicked, Helene went out onto the field, crouched down in the lineup, and was knocked cold within the first three seconds of play. Whe she came to, the coach was vigorously massaging her p*ssy. "Don't worry Smithers," he said nervously, "once we get your b*lls back into place, your c*ck'll spring right up."