In about 1942, two of us boys were fishing in his father's pond.  We raided a couple of beehives there, and got severely stung.  My friend's scrotum swelled up like a grapefruit, which kept him out of the draft process.  So he stayed home while the rest of us went and got shot at.   (Eventually the swelling gradually subsided and he was normal.)

Beestings can be life-savers.

grumpy
Louisiana

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