Ointment Overture

I HATE the fact that my life has become so “ointment orientated”.

When this sudden metamorphosis happened I’m not exactly quite sure, buts omewhere along the way gels, salves, balms, creams, liniments, and lotions entered the picture and my masculinity has been on the decline ever since. I feel like I’ve been steadily devolving for the past few years with each additional prescribed steroid cream and medicated ointment, so that soon I expect to wake up one morning with a solide unibrow and have this mysterious urge to fling feces at the mailman.

After each shower, it begins: medicated non-alcohol deodorant in my armpits, Vitamin-E enriched pliable pomade to my dry split ends, and then a good liberal slathering on my balls and ass with this yellow anti-fungal steroid crotchrot formula. And this is not even including any of those really exciting special occasions where I have to bring out the 'Preparation H' or 'Gold Bond' from hiding deep in the recesses of my medicine cabinet. Yeah, I feel sexy alright!

Fuck, if this is a sign of future things to come I’d be willing to forego the gumming graham crackers in the lobby of a Retirement Village right now and just level the barrel of a Winchester rifle to my head and pull the trigger.