“You with Hustler?” asked one eager couple who spotted this reporter’s camera. “Can I flash you?” proposed a shaved-headed man whose leather vest didn’t cover his wagging testicles. “Free Mammograms,” read a tinfoiled box on another man’s head. Such were the opportunities at the 21st Annual Testicle Festival at Rock Creek Lodge last weekend. According to a Lodge gift shop employee, an estimated 13,000 people come from as far away as Nebraska each year to eat balls, swill beer and shed clothes. And the $10 entrance fee (camping is extra, a “Ball Plate” is an additional $6; for $2 more your “Ball Dinner” comes with baked beans and white bread), is enough, says the cashier, to keep Rock Creek Lodge afloat for at least the rest of the year.
If, that is, Rock Creek Lodge survives the “Adults Only” weekend. As the sun set on Saturday night, a rowdy crowd jockeyed for drinks inside the bar. A fight broke out, sending a free-balling man sailing onto the chest of another who was fully clothed, while this reporter narrowly escaped a scuffle with a bearded patron belligerent about whose can of Bud was whose. Beaded women lifted their shirts; jars labeled “gonads” and “bullshit” adorned the bar; screams of “there’re naked people out here” came from the exits, where more Testy-Fest-goers tried to lure patrons out of the packed bar so the bouncers would let them in.
Outside, the campground carried a more congenial mood. Amidst chock-a-block campers and tents and Harleys, bikers from Idaho and Washington swapped stories and offered shots of Jack to strangers. During the annual Bobbing for Balls event, men rode their bikes past dangling balls-on-a-string while their topless passengers tried to chomp them. And long past sunset, talk still lingered of the women who’d ridden wooden phalluses to win big in the wet T-shirt contest earlier in the day (said phalluses were also for sale in the gift shop). But there was fun for those who kept their clothes on, too: playing for the $100 Bullshit Bingo prize. How do you get a B-5, or an O-13, at the Testicle Festival? Hope the real, live bull trolling the bull-size bingo board pops a squat on your square.