- Mar 6, 2009
- Reaction score
btw its pretty revolting but i was stoned when i read it and my sides were hurting through laughing
Don't EVER shave your *** hair!
Someone sent me this link from StumbleUpon and I laughed so hard I had to reprint it here in case craigslist where it was posted deletes it.
Reply to: [email protected] [?]
Date: 2009-01-27, 4:55PM CST
I have recently made one of the biggest mistakes in my life, and I offer my story to you, that you may learn from my error. It all started, as many things do, with me having trouble shitting.
No, I was not constipated. This was not a regularity problem but a matter of technique. It seems my ***-hair had grown to such a length that tiny balls of **** were constantly getting tied up in the matted jungle between my ***-cheeks. It led to much frustration, with me knowing that I still had something to drop, but unable to shake the tenacious turd loose from its butt hair dwelling place. Eventually I would have to do one of two things: either reach down with some paper and try to pinch off the lingering loaf (which required careful precision to avoid smearing the creature all over my rear, especially since I had no way of seeing what I was doing) or just go for broke, start wiping, and hope that I could remove all the leftover fecal matter before the toilet paper reached its ‘Can't-Be-Flushed’ threshold.
As I was contemplating this problem, I had what seemed at the time to be a brilliant idea. “Hey, this is my butt and my butt-hair, right? So why don't I just eliminate all the hair all together, and then my crap will flow out like beer from a keg!" I said to myself. It is a statement that will go down in history with a lot of other regretted statements, things like "How many Indians could there be?" said by General Custer. "Looks like a good day for a drive!" by JFK, or "There! America On-Line now has complete Usenet access!" by some idiot system tech. Such was my anal shaving idea.
I performed the operation that night, with a cheap disposable razor and a towel to sit on. Starting from the bottom, and shaving from the crack to the cheeks, I began the arduous process of ridding my *** of hair. Occasionally, I would have to clean the razor of accumulated hair and miscellaneous slime, which I did by wiping it on the towel. Slowly, my twin mounds and the between-ravine began to resemble the hairless cheeks of a newborn baby. Finally, I wiped the razor one last time, and surveyed my work. The towel was covered with a pile of hair. My *** was smooth as ivory. I smiled; satisfied, thinking my troubles were over.
Little did I know?
I now have a great respect for anal-hair. Like everything in this world God created, it has its mighty purpose in existence. It was only after I had removed it that I started to learn how much I had been taking it for granted. For one, it provides friction. I learned this the next day, when I walked out into the sun heading for class. After climbing two flights of stairs and starting to sweat, I started to notice something unpleasant. The sweat was accumulating in my crack, and was causing the unpleasant sensation of my two ***-cheeks sliding past each other with every step. I thought about going to the bathroom and wiping it off, but had to get to class. Eventually, I thought, it would dry.
Unfortunately, it did dry, but only after mingling with the microscopic ****- molecules lingering around my brown starfish. When I stood up after class, my cheeks were stuck together with a slimy sticky ****/sweat combination. As I made my way back to my dorm, it started to itch. And I mean it itch! Felt like a swarm of ants was making its way up and down my crack. Fighting to keep from jamming my hand down there and scratching away, I rushed back to the dorm.
Unfortunately again, this exertion caused me to sweat, and when I finally reached my room, my cheeks were sliding back and forth against each other like a pair of horny cane-toads. I quickly dropped my pants, and attempted to dry my *** off by sticking it in front of a fan and spreading my cheeks. As I pulled the two mounds of flesh apart, a horrible stench burst free and filled the room. Every dog within a 4-block radius started to howl. I had it worst of all, as the ripe aroma of festering ****/sweat went into the fan and blew back into my face. I fought to keep from heaving. And as I sat there, fighting vomit, my *** cheeks spread and dripping, with the concentrated aroma of my body odor mixed with the tangy smell of my own **** blowing right into my face, I had only one thought: "It will be like this until the hair grows back. Weeks."
Later on, trying to deal as best I could, wiping my *** at every opportunity, I discovered another wonderful use for ***-hair, ventilation. I attempted to launch a fart, only to have it get stuck between my ***-cheeks. Apparently, with no hair, the two pink twins can get vacuum-sealed together, and the result was a frustrating fart that slid up and down between my cheeks like a lost gerbil.
As if that wasn't enough, I am now enduring further torture. As anyone who has ever shaved anything knows, when hair is first growing back in, it comes in as stubble. Imagine your *** having the texture of a Brillo pad. Well, that’s what I am dealing with now. It is a hellish torture, and there are many times when I just look out the window and contemplate why I shouldn't just jump out and get it all over with in one fleshy splat, rather than endure this constant agony.
All I can say is friends don’t shave your *** hair!