The possibility of 70s jungle bush
becoming en vogue again gives me the heebie jeebies, but I applaud the ladies behind Decembeaver.
I have no problem with girls refraining from shaving, trimming or waxing their mount pleasants for a month. It’s not like I’m gonna see ’em anyway. Or am I?
Is there any talk of proudly displaying your dirty hairys all over the web, like the guys do for Movember? If so, fuckin’ eh! Now that’s showing some balls! If not, why the fuck not?
I wonder if whoever came up with the idea was inspired by Amanada Palmer’s brilliant tune Map Tasmania
I am especially pleased about the advent of Decembeaver because gives me an opportunity to share a funny story with y’all.
Many years ago, when I was the mastermind behind the sickest bar in the world, one of our regulars was openly lusted after by one of our waitresses.
The waitress did not have Farah Fawcett’s looks
Nor was she as clever as Dorothy Parker
There really wasn’t anything alluring about the girl. Which is neither here nor there, I suppose, except for the fact that our friend with the hollow leg disappeared with our waitress with the hollow head one night.
Maybe the girl wasn’t so dumb after all. Got him liquored enough to drag him off to her lair, to do things that even Prince would disapprove of, and, no doubt, got him to tip her handsomely for her efforts.
Several days later our friend skulked back into the bar, after calling ahead to see who was working the floor that night, and more importantly who was not working the floor.
I pounced on him right away. Hustled him into a dark corner with a jug of beer and a tumbler full of whisky. “Out with it,” I demanded.
“Why didn’t you stop me? Isn’t that part of your job?”
I laughed, filled his pint glass and again demanded, “Out with it.”
“I don’t remember leaving here. I didn’t know where I was when I ‘came to’ but I knew it wasn’t good. I was flat on my back and there was a big, hairy muff coming towards my face at warp 6,” he said, before stopping to down his beer and shake his head.
I howled! Then he delivered a line that I will never forget and have always wished I’d come up with
“I thought I was in a fucking car wash!”
I put him on my promo tab for the night 🙂
With this story in mind, I suggest the ladies resort to a little extortion, in order to raise even more money for finding a cure for pussy cancer. Tell your guys that, unless a substantial donation is made before New Year’s Eve you’re going to get them slobbering drunk and car wash them.
That’s a rotten harbinger of things to cum in the new year, and I’m sure the threat will result in them throwing their credit cards at you and pleading, “Please, baby, just SHAVE THAT FUCKING THING ALREADY!”