Aftershave

Now you ladies wouldn't know what a bloody pain in the ass it is to have to shave every day. But even then I cheat and shave every other day, allowing myself a 5 o'clock shadow every 2 days, maybe a beard on the weekends. Then there are the fortunate people who can get away with shaving every other week... they don't know how lucky they are. In fact I was complaining about this to my grandmother. I've never seen my grandfather because he died before I was born, and I'm curious to know why both my father and I have fast growing beards. So I asked her if she had an affair with an Indian, but I never got a straight answer from her about that, funny thing.

Once you get a cut, it's crap for you, because you know that in 24 hours (or 48, depending on which schedule you're using) you're going to run the razor over that cut again, and it's going to be a stupid wound for the rest of your life: open, close, open, close. Which is why I'm glad they have aftershave. That bottom of your face has to be well moisturised, well taken care of. And it's good because it just washes away those small cuts that you get.

In fact I always think about this disaster movie filmed by those cute little bacteria colonies that grow on my neck, how they would found the colony, grow, multiply, become civilised, start walking on, if not 2 feet, then 2 blobs. There would be the stratification of society, discovery of agriculture, religion, formation of great cities, great irrigation projects, masterpieces of bacteria art. The bacterian Renaissance. The bacteria religion, where they worship the Great Germ in the sky. The Reformation. The Enlightenment. The Industrial revolution.

Then one dab of my aftershave, and they're all screaming bloody murder, their cell walls bursting in horrified bacterial agony, their mitochrondria exploding. The apocalypse, armageddon. Death, destruction, pestilence.

Gilette, the best a man can get.