When one of my co-workers-- Kory, my most skilled foosball opponent-- was diagnosed with testicle cancer, he was crushed. In the days leading up to his nut-removal surgery, he moped around the office, sipping Earl Grey in a loud and obsequious manner. I decided that something must be done, and took steps. Upon his safe recovery and return to the office, I challenged him to a game of foosball. After the first few points, he got irritated at the odd movements the ball took. “This can’t be regulation,” he said, and held up the foosball for further inspection. Yep, you guessed it— I had sifted through a dumpster’s worth of biowaste and found his removed testicle. I'd shellacked it, and we’d been playing with it the whole time. When the realization hit his face, he unleashed the first yelp of orgasmic joy I'd heard from him in months.