Trimming the Hedges
The other day I was taking a piss. That’s not too unusual. I do that probably about forty times a day.
Sausage in hand, draining the main vein, pretending to put out the Hindenburg and just plain playing target practice on imaginary enemies, my eyes turned to my pubes. I thought to myself, man, that thing looks like a friggin afro or something.
Really. It was big. I mean, it wasn’t so big that I couldn’t find the weiner for the trees, I’m no moooooog. It was just damned bushy.
This kid's head has got nuthin on my pelvis.
My eyes then caught my beard trimmer. I looked down at the bird’s nest, back to the beard trimmer, and back to the birds nest. Before my mind knew what was going on, my hand grabbed the trimmer and went to town.
Next thing I knew, the toilet was full of hair and the front of my pelvis was bald.
Little spazzy looked much bigger. In fact, the only way he could look any bigger was if I painted him black.
I don’t know why I did it. I will say that having the base of little willy exposed to free air felt good, really good. Kind of like if you let your hair grow too long then get it shaved off. Exposed to the breeze.
But why? Why did I do it? I mean, it seemed like a good idea at the time. I don’t have a girlfriend, so keeping neat and clean down there is purely optional. It’s not an option if I do have a girlfriend. I mean, if I expect her to shave then I’ll return the courtesy. The difference of course is that she doesn’t floss when she goes down on me if it’s not shaved, but I’m not a hypocrite in any way.
I did forget the natural consequence of going to to bare wood, especially if your trimmer isn’t the sharpest at the time.
I’m still trying to explain to our new student at work that I wasn’t coming on to her when she caught me scratching my groin with great gusto. I’m also explaining that to her lawyer and the cops.
Oh well. Some good did come out of it.
Thanks for the hair transplant spaz! I'm forever in your debt.
‘Nuff Said
