Wednesday, 25 November 2009


Like the oppressive forces of dictatorships in far away countries that are impossible to relate to, men's deodorant overpowers the male armpit gland with as much subtlety as a tank in Tienanmen Square.

I just can't relate to the overpowering smell that overdress' many a underarm male hair follicle. They are the smells of competitive sport, the aggressive whiffs of predatory pursuit and confidence that I, obviously, am never really going to be atune to.

Memories of sitting in the changing room after being picked last, having been stuck in goal with mud encrusted up to my hairless ball sack while my physically superior classmates sprayed thick litres of this juice on their genitalia instead of showering - because 'they weren't a poofter!' - are obviously ones that I cherish highly (Lynx was the choice then - having a new flavour of Lynx, say Africa, was like having Nike's or something).

So a few years ago, to appease my inferior masculine frame, I decided women's deodorant was the way forward (using men's deodorant now would be like using a whole can of weedkiller on a single blade of grass).

I'm a comforting smell, a bit like laundry.

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