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Thursday, January 15, 2004

 

If You Can't Tell, I Have a Tattoo Reading "Watch the Teeth" in My Happy Trail Area



I BRIEFLY CONSIDERED constructing a narrative based on my utter bewilderment at the dubiously popular practice of men getting Brazilian waxes. (For one, I don't believe this trend is for even a minute, ahem, gaining traction. Secondly, I blame metrosexuals.)

Instead, you get a list.

Things That Cause Slightly Less Pain Than Having Your Balls Waxed

--A parent burying a child, a first-born, male child with whom a proud lineage also dies

--The insertion of a catheter that's been contaminated by an orderly who's just eaten a dozen spicy buffalo wings

--Employing the antiquated practice of treating diaper rash with a cheese grater

--Winterbush burn

--Watching reruns of Friends' eighth season with pre-staple Carnie Wilson sitting on your face, constantly fidgeting to get comfortable

--Postcoital cuddling (wasn't the cab fare taped to the headboard hint enough?)

--Your therapist's barely-stifled giggles following a hard-won breakthrough involving the ferris wheel at Neverland Ranch, a suggestive lyric in "Remember the Time" you're sure is a veiled reference to your genitalia, and a llama ride

--Getting your balls waxed by Salma Hayek



About this site

This is the internet home of Mark Lisanti, a Los Angeles writer sometimes known as Bunsen. He is the founding editor of Defamer, a weblog about Hollywood, where he now serves in the nebulous capacity of "editor-at-large."
If You Like Bunsen, Then You'll Love Bunsen
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