Friday, July 5, 2013

My Wet Hairy American Summer

Summer is a time of joy, a time of relaxation, a time of celebration and (most regrettably) a time of unwanted nudity. All of these things are enough to make me want to put myself into a coma.

Joy? Happiness? I will not be a part of any of this!!!

Tantrum completed. Now, wise biddy minions, please hear me out. The beginning of the summer is usually marked with the Fourth of July. For as long as I can remember I have hated this holiday with a passion. The reasons for my hatred have changed over the years, of course. When I was younger I could not FUCKING stand the sound of the fireworks and fire crackers. I mean really, think about it, fireworks look cool but fire crackers are kind of pointless. It is just loud noise. Whoop de-fuckin-doo.
But now I hate it solely because the holiday is fucking stupid and people act like even bigger idiots on this day. Everyone likes to post all over facebook about their thuper cool, thuper patriotic plans. How about no... INSTEAD, how about I sit on my ass and eat blueberry pancakes with my dog while watching a marathon of Gilmore Girls. I have no desire to mingle at parties with plebeians and common folk.
Nothing good ever comes of talking to people. Especially drunk people. Especially "patriotic" drunk people. Especially "patriotic" drunk people who think it is funny to say "'murica" over and over. That's not cute or hot or anything.

Enjoy your barbecues, enjoy your burgers. I will be enjoying mine in the safety of my own home.

What most concerns me about summer time is the unwanted nudity that we are faced with almost everyday. Some days I do not even want to leave my house in fear of seeing something that I can never unsee. The dumb biddies that rock the bootie short, the crop tops and (as I discussed last week) the dreaded cleav are only the tip of the ice berg. Yeah, those are unpleasant situations and shit but I am mainly speaking of the fifty-something year old men on the beach who have absolutely no regard for anyone else's sanity...or stomach.
Picture yourself lying on a beautiful beach. The sound of the waves hitting the shore, the feeling of the ocean breeze caressing your skin and the sand massaging your toes. Then, you open your eyes and see a man walk by wearing a sweater. "Okay, whatever," you think to yourself. You close your eyes but then think, "Wait, a sweater on the beach? What's up with that?" So you open your eyes again only to realize the horror... the absolute horror that it is not a sweater at all. That is back hair, that's some full grown motherfucking back hair. ONE HUNDRED PERCENT man fur. Not cute.
Someone bring that thing back to the Bronx Zoo where it belongs!

Normally, I would not make fun of people's bodies but I find this especially offensive for various reasons. First of all, it is absolutely disgusting. Back hair is just not acceptable. It kills every lady boner within a one hundred mile radius. Second of all, what gives them the nerve to walk around with all that fur when women practically kill themselves getting bikini waxes all summer? What if we had women rockin' bushes all over the place? It would be madness! Women would be banned from beaches. Men just could not handle the bush. They could not handle the realness.
Now, I do not want any misconceptions. I am fully supportive of women weed wackin' the bush (or maybe even a cute little corn-row action now and then), I am merely pointing out that we should not just end the weed wackin' rules at the bush. Back hair should be wacked thoroughly and completely as well. If anybody has a problem with this, then keep your fucking clothes on gentleman.



P.S. Individuals who wish to wear speedos in public must get verbal permission from yours truly. Call me or text me to make an appointment.

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