"Oh Thank You Lord in Heaven!! I am so glad to hear that I got the nutsack hair…"
Sit right down everyone, and let me tell you a tale…A tale, about some pubes.
That’s right, Pubes. Short and curlys. The Fuzz (that isn’t an antiquated term for the police). Hair pie (not gender neutral). Pubic Hair. Hair from the Human Genitals, in this case, male (No homo).
It started innocently enough, like most stories about pubic hair do (heh heh, Pubic hairdo….). A friend, let’s call him Joe (names changed to protect those who are less free and easy with their pubes than I), came to stay at my place for a few days. Over that time, he used my shower. One day, right before he went home, he asked if he could use a bar of my soap, because the soap he brought had run out. Not a problem, the last thing I need this motherfucker to do is stink. So, like a good host, I give him a bar of Dial or something. He later joked that he made sure to use it to clean his balls thoroughly.
So, he leaves one morning, and later that night, I decide to grab a shower before bedtime. Oh, the horror, THE HORROR I found in that shower…
(a close up for the farsighted…)
It would seem my friend had seen fit to leave a not-so-happy-for-me surprise on my soap, a couple of black, curly sack hairs for me to find and surely rejoice over. But no, I was HORRIFIED. More than that though, I saw an opportunity for humor.
I took those pics and posted them online for all of our friends to see, and everyone laughed, nervously at first, as most heterosexual men do when the subject of anything that has touched a man’s penis that isn’t their own comes up. But there was laughter, guffaws even, along with remarks about how Joe would never be allowed to sleep over anyone’s home or use their bathrooms ever again. I, myself, even laughed at the idea of poor, dirty Joe wallowing in his own filth and urinating on a sidewalk somewhere because no one would let him use their bathroom…Still, there was more humor to be had.
It was a little after Halloween that year, and a quick trip to a local discount store found me a curly black wig and a FANTASTIC idea to take the joke a little further on our guest bed where Joe had slept.
Initially, I tried to arrange the pubes into a sort of pubic Shroud of Turin, but I quickly got lazy, threw them all on the bed and just spread them around. I posted the pics with jokes about Joe needing to go to a spa or marry up a Bigfeets or change his name to Joebacca. Again, everyone laughed, Joe shook his head and took it like a man (no homo), and the joke ended there. Sort of.
The joke was resurrected again a few months later, when a young, female friend of my wife stayed the night at our house. I thought I had cleaned the sheets off, but she came downstairs that morning asking if we had a black cat, because she woke up with all these black hairs in her mouth and on her face…
As I said, an innocent joke about pubes. Little did I know, it would soon turn…Well, kind of nasty, but on me this time.
About a year or so later, I went on a trip out of town with a group of friends. Joe didn’t come, but others who were familiar with the story did. One individual, who I would like to call the Flaming Asshole with no name, but that is too much too much to type so let’s just call him “Rapey” because it furthers yet another secret inside joke that you can all speculate on, was in attendance. Rapey took it upon himself to take the pube joke even further. How? Read on…
This trip took a couple days of travel each way, and on the return trip, we all stopped at a friend’s house in Ohio to shower, sleep, and eat before heading home. It was my turn to shower, so I stripped all nekkid like, grabbed my little plastic travel soap dish (it snaps closed to keep the soap fresh!) and jumped into the tubby.
While I was wetting mah nekkid body down with the warm water from the shower, I grabbed my trusty soapdish to start lathering up. I lifted it to my face to get that first aroma of fresh Zest that just makes bathing worth it, cracked the dish open in the warm shower stream, and gasped in terror as a GIANT BALL OF BROWN HAIR was rinsed out of the dish, down my arms and the rest of my nekkid body, and into the tub. I screamed like a woman and shut the dish, taking a moment to process what just happened. Did I do that? On some bizarre, drunken dare, did I shave my nutsack and store the hair for safekeeping in my soapdish? Surely not, my hairs are all a rich, ginger red, while these were a dark brown. Those were not mine. So, who the fuck put their pubes in my soapdish? I finished showering without my own soap, and took some pics of the leftover evidence to use as…Well, evidence.
Somehow, I knew it was Rapey that did this. When confronted publicly with the evidence he kept his mouth shut, but privately, he giggled his way through an explanation about how he didn’t want me to feel “left out” because Joe wasn’t there to leave HIS pubes behind. Uh huh.
I fully planned to get Rapey back. I wasn’t sure how or how bad, but he would have some sort of experience with my pubes (no homo). I just had to wait for the right time.
Over the next year or so, I spoke with Rapey more often. He and I traveled in the same circle of friends because we have the same hobby, one which I promise to elaborate more on in a future post. Well, between doing some financial dealing for collectibles within our hobby, and making plans for our next group trip, Rapey helped me out a lot. It actually made my need for vengeance fall by the wayside for a little while. We made a trade deal for a few higher end (expensive) pieces, and I took my half of the deal in person when we met that year at a convention. The plan was that I would mail him his part of the deal when I got home. He knew I was good for it. He trusted me.
I won’t lie, the whole revenge of the pubes thing had not crossed my mind for a while, until the day I was packing up the item I was supposed to ship him to finish our deal. Just as I was going to close and tape up the box, the idea hit me…And I ran up the steps to get my beard trimmer. While I had always kept the hedges trimmed back in my youth, I fired the gardener once I hit 30, so I had quite a bit of brush to clear for this particular manscaping job. I stood on a dining room chair, dropped my pants, arched my back and thrust my junk out over the box. With a click and a whirrrrrrr I was hedge trimming bushy ginger vengeance into Rapey’s package (no homo), and was sure to get every lingering curl from all angles I could see, leaving me as smooth and bald as the day I was born, or at least as bald as the last time I shaved my pubes thinking a chick would appreciate it. I taped the box up and shipped it to Rapey, giddy with anticipation over the email I would get once he opened it up.
But, there was no email. No call, no reply at all, at least not right away. There was a rather short message almost a month later that made some reference to the flocking falling out of an action figure’s head, but no direct mentioning of the two cubic feet of pubic hair I had painstakingly gathered and sent him through the US mail.
A few weeks later, on one of our hobby related message boards, he made the announcement that he was getting married to his long time girlfriend (Who was, BTW, WAY too hot for a dork like him. Sorry, Rapey.). All our friends poured on the congratulations, but I just had to push him for an answer. I asked if he had sprinkled my pubes on Ice cream for his girlfriend before asking her to marry him, because my pubes were magic, and he would need magic to get a hot chick like her to say yes to marrying a dork like him. That prompted him to finally tell the full story.
Apparently, he got the package on a Saturday, while he was home from work and in the middle of agonizing over preparations for a new home that he and his fiance were buying. She was bugging him about some style of bathtub while he was opening to box. He was barely paying attention to her while he was unpacking it, and was looking at her when he dug out a handful of my pubes. Half in and out of a conversation about bathroom fixtures with her, and half trying to figure out what was is his hand, he walked his handful of my pubes in a better lit part of the house to see what they were. As he examined them, he made reference to coconut shavings, something he was familiar with for some dumb ass reason (he had worked at an antique furniture store or something). With his fiance still babbling in his ear, he came to the full realization that he was holding a giant glob of my pubes in his hand, and that I had gotten the upper hand and truly gotten him back. He quickly threw out the pubes and washed his hands, telling his fiance it was “Just a little joke Wrecked-Um played on me, nothing to worry about…”.
I grinned from ear to ear. I had dropped the Fat Man and Little Boy of Pube warfare. Not only getting him to open the box, but to handle my pubes without realizing that they were, in fact, my pubes. I HAD to rub it in. I had too come up with one final dig to remind him. But how? I was basically a naked mole rat between two wrinkly pink nectarines down there…I had nothing left to shave…But then it hit me. A question, really, regarding regions of the body, and their respective hairs, and how those hairs would be categorized…A question I pose to whoever is actually still reading this. Are hairs harvested from the taint and asscrack still considered pubic hair? Because that was all I had left. I had to be a god damned contortionist to get down there with a razor, too. I think I pulled a hamstring halfway through. But I did it, and returning to my previous assertion that my pubes were indeed magic, I cooked up this for Rapey.
When he heard what I had done, he replied with a line that has me screaming in laughter each time I read it, half of which I used for the title of this story.
“Oh Thank You Lord in Heaven!!!! I am so glad to hear that I got the nutsack hair and not the Taint Hair. The sad thing is that I am in a situation where I am saying that.”
–Rapey, July 21, 2010.