They were fun times. They were good times. They were–
Who the fuck am I kidding?
They were shit times. My pubes saw virtually no action and only got to rub up against the inside of my cotton boxer-briefs or maybe even the denim of my jeans if I was feeling like a frisky… frisked… frisk of a thing that a frisk is… or something.
So I mowed them down.
You heard me. I mowed my pubes down with all the force that a guy with a pair of scissors and a sandwich bag can possibly have. I almost smited the things, but had I smited my pubes, I imagine that I’d have ended up smiting the very thing that my pubes live and worship and were I to smite that, I believe that I may as well just smite myself.
But I mowed them down… cut them to the ground… or at the very least, the root of where my problems start.
I’m not saying that my problems stems from my groin, but shit, surely most people can see that it’s usually a major factor.
But I mowed them down… and now, my groin looks like a baby.
A very ugly baby.