It was just another day on the Internet. Facebooking, StumblingUpon, email, email, email, and Twitter. Pinterest. Then some more Twitter. All was going as normal until my friend Sven posted this link. Not just any link; this link was the Link of all Links to make my other links look like trembling, weeny, insignificant links. It linked to an Amazon product: Veet Hair Removal for Men.
It’s giggle worthy, I’ll admit. But that’s mainly because, while woman are envisioned as sleek, hairless, svelte creatures; most men are hairy buggers. Like bears, or puppies. Big hairy puppies that wake you up at 6am. Where would these Veet-buying men even remove their hair? Chests? That’s all I can think of. My dad, brothers and boyfriend have all got hairless chests (like male models) and not like Young Alec Baldwin:
Of course, another area ready for hair removal is the, erm, genital area. Like Hollywood waxes are the trend for women, there is a similar, no holds-barred attitude taken to male pubes. Partly because the erm, organ, looks bigger without all the unnecessary fluff, and partly for, erm, other reasons.
With that thought in mind, Veet put very clearly on the product DO NOT PUT ON GENITALS. The comments to this product, after disobeying the instructions, make for some of the funniest reading I have ever done. I pasted some of the best ones here, but to read the rest follow this link.
Reviews of Veet Hair Removal for Men
‘Being a loose cannon who does not play by the rules the first thing I did was ignore the warning and smear this all over my knob and bollocks. The bollocks I knew and loved are gone now. In their place is a maroon coloured bag of agony.’ (Rest below)
‘Although as a man I lack the required experience, I’m going to estimate that using this product is at least eleven times more painful than childbirth.
Imagine sticking a rusty razor blade into your favourite eye, before tying your hands behind your back. Then imagine that you use the entrenched razor blade to slice open a raw onion. All the while being butt naked. This product is slightly more painful than that.’ (Rest below)
‘My eyes widening with mounting horror, I surveyed the damage occurring to my sausage and beans with no small sense of panic. My pubes were actually bubbling and fizzing, in much the same way they might if one of James Cameron’s Aliens had just sprayed their acid blood upon them. There were no swear words strong enough to adequately describe the agony, and in my delirium I began making them up. I don’t recall exactly what I screamed, but I’m fairly sure the entirely-new expletive “funting” was employed.
With as much haste as I could muster I hobbled into the shower and applied cooling water to the conflagration in my crotch, which only served to spread the napalm to my perineum. I am not a church-going man but as I felt the flaming horror trickle across that tender inch of no-man’s land, I confess that I prayed aloud to Jesus and his host of angels that the advancing agony would not stray into my buttonhole. However, my prayers went unheeded, and as I felt the liquid inferno sizzle its way into my most private of eyes, I lost consciousness, but not before grabbing the shower curtain and collapsing, in a disturbing echo of that famous scene from Hitchcock’s “Psycho”.’ (Rest below)
‘On a positive note, it has removed all traces of hair. It has also removed any possibility of engaging in gentlemanly pursuits (singles or mixed doubles) for at least a couple of weeks. The Kids enjoy the amusing baboon impression dad now performs everytime he sits down though.’ (Rest below)
‘The water uncovered bald patches interspersed with clumps of wizened pubes and I’m now left with a groin area that’s so inflamed and wrinkled it looks like Sid James with alopecia.’ (Rest below)
‘…balanced on one leg in the shower holding a shaving mirror between my legs, and pushing my throbbing nads to one side with the toilet brush, I could see what I can only describe as a Gollum’s head tortured and battered by a Taliban interrogation unit, peering up at me through a single screwed up puffy eye, looking pretty sorry for itself. On closer inspection my two previously furry love-eggs had absconded deep into my body for protection leaving my somewhat forlorn looking scrotum hanging there, like a pelican’s over-filled neck pouch which had been flogged with a barbed wire paddle.’ (Rest below)