Tuesday, May 11, 2010

Got Pubes In Pocket

Pubic hair; it’s everywhere.

Like in your pocket, what’s up with that?! You go to pull out some shrapnel and amongst the fluff and minute bits of paper there will be the odd pube or two.

Now some people might be disgusted by that but I’m not; I hold on to mine and even transfer it from one pair of pants to the next because you can never be too sure when you’ll come across someone selling something for 3 bucks five pubes.

I watched a TV show the other week about Kiwi couples getting married. Quite why you would want to make an already stressful exercise like organising a wedding by having some nosy fucken cameras poking about is beyond me, but there you go.

I refused to watch the first episode because it featured the couple that won a radio comp last year to have their wedding paid for, providing they performed the ceremony nude. Tissue box and hand lotion stuff, you would think. But no, the couple covered their bits with bits and had themselves a ‘partially nude’ wedding which is false fucking advertising really and only slightly erotic.

Anyhoo, this particular night I watched two virgins were getting hitched and the highlight of the episode was the bride to be getting a Brazilian in prep for the big night. Another quality TV show this, I tell you.

It was at that point my mind again turned to pubes and why the silly girl felt she had to remove hers?! Did it not occur to her that hubby hasn’t ever seen one so it’s not going to bother him one bit if it’s a massive bush. Now she has to keep the yard work up because he isn’t going to want anything less. Good one.

Then there was the sex scene on ‘The Pacific’ the other night and the guys smooth arse, which would be fine, if fellas waxed in the Forties. They didn’t but Steven Spielberg and Tom Hanks clearly didn’t think about that when they sat down and planned this out did they? Fantastically believable special effects, yes. Hairy arses, no.

Speaking of retro vagine, my mother had a perverse attitude to all things shaving, especially where my sister was concerned. Under peer pressure to do something about her hairy legs she asked my mother if she could start shaving them.

My mother’s response was that if my sister was to start shaving she could never stop so why even bother? Which was a bit rich really, coming from the woman who regularly made us both bathe in the same water she had used to shave hers in every other night. The hairy bitch.

And that would have been the end of the matter had I not taken pity on my younger sibling and let her use my disposable razors which was okay because I wasn’t actually growing any facial hair (and wouldn’t for roughly 10 years), despite my pretending to shave every day.

Now there’s a song out at the moment that is quite popular with the young folk, sung by one of those androgynous emo types who favour the kind of hair style that can best be described as having stuck ones head up a cows arse.

It’s a catchy number, I like it, but I’m pretty sure I wrote that song some 20 years before this kid stopped cutting himself to pinch my work. I realise they’re incredibly complex lyrics and I don’t actually have any proof that I came up with them but I seem to recall standing in front of my mirror, tennis racket plugged in and the amp turned up to ‘11’, rocking out to the very same four word anthem; Wataya want from me!

They were the only words I had mind you, because back then I had all the musical ability of a sock. Some would argue that some things haven’t changed despite my professing to be an okay guitar player but at least these days I don’t have to pretend with a cricket bat, or on the nights when I had left it outside by the back door, my diddle.

Okay so sometimes I still do the nude guitar in front of the missus. She hates it which is admittedly why I keep doing it. It’s not enjoyable for me, not in the slightest. Especially now that the ukulele I strummed back then is a full sized acoustic.

Maybe that’s how I end up with pubes in my pocket....?

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