I Mind, Body Spray

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body_spray_leadDeodorant used to be enough. A splash of cologne used to lay the metaphorical steel tracks straight into Love Canal, USA. Today, we men are faced with yet another accouterment with which to mask our congenital stink. I am speaking of male body spray.
We've all seen the commercials by now. Some 124 pound nerd wakes up with his tube socks on, and instead of taking the shower he's needed since the week before his last "Magic: The Gathering" sausage party, he sprays some shit on his dandruff covered silk-screened tiger t-shirt. The next thing he knows, his passing scent evokes an eruption of moans from the nearest attractive female. Thankfully, he manages to get out of the house before his mom or sister can catch a wiff and begin to rut violently on the kitchen table.

In another commercial women commit numerous bizarre insertion rituals with any and all metal objects within reach. Some of them grind on sewer pipes like extreme sports athletes in a teen's wet dream. Is this really the type of reaction a man would like from women?

I can see it now. I'm on the beach. I'm throwing horse shoes. I remembered to delouse with my favorite male body spray that morning. Beautiful women surround me. I'm about to toss another leaner, and the next thing I know some smokin' lasse rips the shoe out of my hand and jams one end in her meat trench and the other in her fudge factory like a rusty taint staple. Hey honey, hold it up so the luck won't run out.

But seriously, what kind of man would use this stuff? The Puerto Rican shower has been around since, well, the first lazy man decided to reek like a dog shit sandwich with a side of your grandmother's latest discharge, not shower, and soak his sweater in after-shave. So where the hell does male body spray fit into a man's day? The truth is, it doesn't. That's why we are subject to mass media marketing campaigns like those described above. No real man needs this shit. There are, however, a small margin of man-boys out there who fuel this misogynistic black market.

You've seen them. You've likely laughed at them. These are the guys drive Volkswagens because they're "sorta like Audis, but with a sweeter logo". They gel their hair before they go to the gym to hang out on the bench and talk loudly about how totally rawkin' being one of Bam Margera's fluffers must be. They get a sudden and uncontrollable urge to masturbate when Maverick spikes on Iceman in that flamboyant Top Gun beach volleyball scene. They have subscriptions to Stuff, FHM, Blender, Maxim and Men's Health because they can't think for themselves and they love to gaze at dudes' six packs while they're taking dumps.

The male body spray industry revolves around these soulless losers. The ad campaigns appeal to their "dude, I'm gettin' sooo much fucking pussy tonight!!11" brain functions. To those pricks who may have found their way to this sentence in my article, I beseech you, "STOP!"

Admittedly, my olfactory system has yet to encounter any of these products. That is neither here nor there. I just don't want to see any more retarded advertising for these products. Or any advertising, for that matter. The small market segment who buy this shit like lunch meat are going to keep up it up. I, on the other hand, will gladly bask in my own manly musk until I grow old and blow an O-ring.

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