I do not belong in a freak show, thank you very much

I was riding up an elevator the other day to see my therapist. It was one of those unexpectedly hot fall days, and I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt. I was joined on the second floor by a FedEx man making deliveries. He pointed down to my shin.
"That's quite a bump you have down there," he said. "How did you do that?"
"That's not a bump," I responded. "That's one of my testicles."
"Daaamn!" he replied. "What the hell's one of your balls doing down there, man?"
"A slow orbit around my shin bone, I believe."
"Ever had a doctor check that shit out?" he asked. "Because, frankly, that ain't where your balls supposed to be at."
"I have von Flabflauchflisen's disease," I told him.
"Oh, von Flabflauchflisen's disease, huh? That shit ain't too good."
"No," I said, "it isn't too good at all."
"I think you got another one floating up here," he noted, pointing to my throat.
"No, that's just my double Adam's apple."
"Damn, that shit's crazy," he marvelled. "Someone should sell tickets."
"Are you implying that I belong in a freak show!" I screamed at him. "Because I don't!"
"Take it easy, man," he said. "Take it easy. I'm not trying to say nothing."
We traveled in silence for a few moments.
"I'm just saying, you know, if you were interested in some carnie work, you know, I might know a guy," he said.
"You have a card?" I asked after a moment of thought.
"You know I do, freakie-freakie!" he said, handing me his business card. "I'm gonna make you rich, you old Shin Nuts!"
"Don't call me that, okay?"
"Whatever you say, Necky Neck Neck."