Today is the first in a possible series of blog-swaps between Hilary and I. She's over at my blog (SecondHand Tryptophan) today and I'm here commandeering hers. Oh, and just who the hell am I? My name is Karl and I'm a professional polecat wrangler with a fish polishing service on the side.
Why did we decide to do this, you might ask? Well, I saw all the swankalicious babes in Hilly's sidebar and convinced her that a blog-swap would allow me to send out subliminal mindwaves to all of you and add more to my dungeon-full of concubines. Oops, I mean I told her it would be a marvelous way to embrace the diversity in our respective blogrolls. After much coaxing and a couple of roofies she was in like Flynn. She's probably freaking out my usual readers even as we speak. They're not used to anything remotely intelligent at my house.
For a week now, I have been asking myself what I'm going to write about here at Snackie's World. You're all used to her finely honed wit. Many of you are also very health conscious, knowing Hilary from her weight loss efforts (WW and otherwise). I, too, am familiar with the ways of WW, believe it or not. However, I'm currently defying WW because I'm a rebellious moron. Anyway, given Snackie's reader demographic, I decided that I would write something about health.
WARNING: Just so you know, my posts can stretch on for a while and they only very rarely end like they start. In other words, I ramble on without any sense of continuity. Deal.
All Up in Your Hoobastank
By Karl Erikson
As I whirl and rattle along this mortal coil, I often find myself contemplating my advancing age and all the wonderful benefits that come along with it. My metabolism is certainly diminished. When I was 20, I could eat 40 gallons of ice cream and drink three cases of Pepsi every day and never gain an ounce. I was 120 pounds when I entered the U.S. Air Force. That's nine pounds over their minimum weight limit. I was ordered to eat a dessert at every meal during basic training because they feared I'd drop too much weight and get kicked out. Sadly, that is not a problem I have today.
My eyesight isn't what it used to be, either. Don't get me wrong, my eyesight has rather sucked my entire life. I first donned a pair of eyeglasses at 18 months of age. (Not a typo.) How the hell you figure out that an 18-month-old requires glasses is beyond me, especially given that it was *cough* 1968 at the time. And how you measure a child for glasses at that age, I don't know, either.
Doctor: "OK, Karl, now which one looks better? 1...or 2?"
Baby Karl: "Gah! Biggity biggity bop!"
Doctor: "Right. Let's try that again. Which looks better? 1...or 2?"
Baby Karl: "Gagga booga ice cream. Na na na na na na na na, Batman!"
Doctor: "Listen, you little shit. I'll put you in magnifying glasses so thick you'll burn anything you look at outside. Now FOCUS."
But the thing I'd really like to talk about today is hair. Now that I'm old enough to feel pervy for even glancing at 20-year-olds, I've got superfluous hairs all over the place. I'm pretty sure the hairs growing out of my ears are the equivalent of 20-gage copper wire. A woman is going to poke an eye out one of these days. (What, I like a little ear lovin' just like everyone else. Don't even pretend that you don't.) Sure, if I was in a Turkish prison, the ear hair might come in handy. I could braid them into an escape rope and climb over the wall. But otherwise...not too many uses for them.
I went for a haircut the other day and my barber took the buzzers and waved them all over my ears like a magic wand. She said, "I can't stand excess hair." And so now I'm in this really insecure hair place, because here's a woman who makes a living from excess hair, and she's telling me that even by her standards, I've got way too much follicular action going on. I mean, there's the ears and there's the nose. "Oops," she said, "gotta get those too," and she jammed the trimmers up under my nose. See what I mean? Now that I think about it, look at my knuckles and my toes. Shit, I'm turning into a freaking hobbit!
Then, as you would expect, I immediately got to thinking about my Frankenberry plumage. I recently read this blog post where the Queen of Spain was going into the various aspects of keeping her gojanga correctly trimmed and shaved. And there were all these comments from her girlfriends, talking about vagina shaving and the trimming and the bikini waxing and the Hollywood waxing and sugaring and Brazilianizing...the pros and the cons. All the methods of depilation for you glabrous ladies. Seriously, if you let the thatchery get too thick down there, you're just asking for all kinds of hygiene and odor trouble. You might lose jewelry or something. Then you've got to send in a search and rescue party, maybe call in a gardener or two. It can get embarrassing. And weedwackers can really hurt "down there." I don't know how I know that, but I do. It's best to look at trimming your yabbamango hair as preventitive maintenance.
Plus, these women were saying how most of them prefer the bald vajayjay because it adds to the sensitivity during, um, the meeting of the vajayjay and the Googenheimer. And when you get right down to it, who really wants to go pubic flossing when you're just trying to have a little fun on Mr. Toad's Wild Tongue Ridetm?
Clearly, pubic hair is a hot issue. But nobody is out there talking about it on Oprah or the show of her ex-husband Dr. Phil. You don't see Cosmo or Elle in the supermarket checkout lines with headlines on the cover like:
Merkins: Why Should Whores Get all the Pubic Wig Fun?
Shave His Initials Into Your Pubes: Show Him You're Really Thinking About Him "Down There!"
Totally Hairless - Oh, So THERE'S the Clitoris!
If women are secretly talking about their pubes, then I just know they're talking about the men's hot zone, too. The blog post I read didn't mention women's preferences for men's plumage. And I have to tell you, as a guy, I don't give it a lot of thought. Granted, I don't have a girlfriend at the moment, so it's not a big deal. But when I do have a girlfriend you can be sure I keep myself tightly trimmed down there. No hair goes beyond four and a half inches. But could the old bait 'n tackle use a buzzcut? Or would women prefer my nethers with a Jean Luc Picard? A Googenheimer mullet? I don't know. I wonder if my barber would consult on this project? It's not like I can just ask people these kinds of questions. In my blog. But since I'm not on my blog...hey, what the hell?
Ladies, do you have a preference for your man's trichome arrangement? Short? Long? Bald? Shaved into whimsical shapes? Does it matter at all? Do you enjoy assisting your man in the trimming or shaving? And perhaps most importantly, why hasn't anyone started up a Pubic Locks for Love charity? Merkin lovers everywhere want to know.
Now, I'm off to grab my Fiskars and spend some quality tub time with me and my John Jacob Jingleheimer Schmidt. Na na na na na na na na, Batman!
Thanks for reading, and thanks to the gorgeous Hilly for letting me play in her house. Next month, it's Karl & Hilly LIVE in California. For now, I hope you'll all pay me a visit over at my blog, SecondHand Tryptophan.
Technorati Tags: blogswap, blog swap, guest blogging, Snackie's World, SecondHand Tryptophan, wouldn't Dungeonfull of Concubines make a great band name?, aging, metabolism, just because you're 20 doesn't mean I don't feel like a pervert for imagining you naked, spectacles on infants, Batman, superfluous hairs, mutant follicular action, weaving ear hairs in Turkish prisons, if you really love me you'll tweeze all my back hair, depilation for dummies, no weedwackers for the yabbamango, don't go leaping straight for the clitoris, give me the Jean Luc Picard baby, Googenheimer mullets, Pubic Locks for Love, let's play who's got the merkin?