Chernobyl

I had always thought there was an age a person reached when they have learned the most basic of lessons. As I am going on 30, I presumed I had passed this point, then I paused to remember who I was thinking about.

Today’s lesson was to avoid perfumed lotion on armpits suffering from razor burn. Seems blazingly obvious doesn’t it? Well it might not until you learn this lesson. To be honest, I hope you don’t learn from my mistakes since stupidity in numbers is comfort, and also what we call our government. Funny how a word can have so many meanings. /impish.

Firefly is my new watching of choice, or lack of, and mid episode I found I was pit-achy, even though I’d used a brand new razor. Unless Mr. Morgan used each of them on his groin and replaced the caps to be evil, they appeared new and quite certain to provide a smooth shave.

The chafe began and was interrupting my show so I reached over for lotion, believing the pits wanted moisture. At first it was cool and soothing, then came an odd smell of skin melting and the sound of an acid boil. Brain reacted, screamed THIS HURTS, then left me all to my own devices. Brain was tired of saying “You know uh…. That might not be the best…. Just saying it could uh…” so it sighed and walked away.

Without Brain to guide me I began running circles in the house, arms above my head screaming “What to do!!!!”

I rolled deodorant over it, since it said it had aloe. Now, two layers deep in product, the lotion and deodorant mingled into a fire and my skin smiled softly as it blushed with a sweet patting on the head. Flopping into the bathroom I found some real aloe and began layer three. The blush was spreading into a more deeply sincere shade of embarrassment and I grabbed shaving cream, lathered the screaming twins up as green aloe goop and chunks of white fluff dripped down in very large amounts while I read the various bottles of "what to do before you are forced medical care for being an idiot."

My ingredients combined appear to be the recipe for pipe bombs, as it looks and feels like one exploded under each arm. I look a fool and wear two lasting giant circles of ruby skin to prove that I cannot take care of myself. Then it occurred to me. THE WET SOCK! How had I overlooked the wet sock? I was desprate, crazed and on fire, I feel bad now for naysaying the wet sock. All bow to wet sock and it's comforting goodness. Never be shy to whop one of those babies on anything ailing, it's mystical powers are infinite. I have one under each arm, cuffed atop each shoulder, with a spray bottle to rejuivinate them as needed. Mr. Morgan is late tonight, and I hope when he walks in and sees the socks, he'll give a silent nod - knowing their ability and ask no questions.

I suppose I could have skipped all those steps and just squirted bleach on them from the get go, maybe a little paint thinner..... Feel free to tell me your fuck ups. Here have a video.



-DM

ps – I hear tell some come here just for photos. No reading. I’m not talking to myself (presently) so don’t do that. You read. Then you bring hats. Then you avert eyes at living twister – left hand RED!