Thursday, May 28, 2009

Deconstructing Hairy

Goddamn I am one hairy fuck. I'm not even talking about Ron's mane or his signature 'stache. I'm talking about me and the boys! Not to sound too Seinfeldian, but what's the deal with pubic hair? What evolutionary purpose does it serve? To keep me warm? I'm trapped in underpants all day with a pupik the size of an Earl Anthony special sheltering me from the elements. Or I'm inside of someone's warm, wet hole.

It can't be about appearance, because few things are less attractive than the black brillo brush that goes for the landscape of my surrounding acreage. I'm sure the ladies don't dig it. Hair traps dirt and cum, and there's always, always a strand that bolts from the pack to start a new life on their tongues, only to be denied such during a momentary pause in head.

Some say "It's beautiful because it's natural."

But Sherman Potter would say, "Horse hockey!" I mean feces is natural too, but you don't see chicks burying their faces in it, even for money (well, I've seen that, but Ron knows some strange characters). And it's not like he styles it or even brushes it. That black wad of steel wool just sits there, contributing zero to my work and obscuring the fullness of my glory. I wish the guy would just shave me clean. Guys in porn do it all the time! Peter North? Man-size balls, toddler smooth. Physicists would be hard pressed to measure a fraction of friction on that package. But RJ? I haven't seen his scrotum since 1964. And as he gets older, it's only going to get worse. That mound is gonna climb me like ivy and soon I'll only look about eight inches long. Oh, the humiliation!
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