RAZZLE DAZZLE

There are things I wish I did not know. Many things, but today one in particular spectacularly stands out. A reader sent me information about it, and asked me what I would do if I came face to face with the subject.

I don't know.

Two options suggest themselves immediately: either run screaming for the bomb shelter, or stand staring transfixed.
While screaming.



AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!



Sweet JEEP ZITS, I never knew such a thing existed.

And apparently we Americans invented it.

We are almighty peculiar.


Vajazzle.

I had to look it up. As, being a middle-aged bachelor who hasn't had any action since Noah landed the Hindenburg, and not a television addict besides, there is no way on earth I could have known about it. Ever.
But we Yanks invented it, it's our contribution to world culture.
People all over the planet are doing it now.

Vajazzle.

The whole concept is praedicated upon making what should be private something to show off in public, like little Johnny's grammar-school craft project. Pimped out by means of tweezers, wax, depilatories, and hot glue.
Plus stencils, temporary tattoos, body paint, and "creative" inspiration.
So far thank heavens it's only and entirely a female thing.
It's only a matter of time before it crosses over.
That, too, is a traumatizing concept.

Vajazzle.

Would I run, or would I stand stock still? If I move, it might detect fear and pursue me, savagely howling and slobbering. At which point little sequins would shake loose in sensitive regions, and chafe something horrid.
This would shortly require a visit to the emergency room.
I can't be held responsible for laceration.
Or post-feminist scars and cuts.
Oh crap it's bleeding

Vajazzle.

Common sense suggests that vajazzling is not a good idea. Nor a valid aesthetic self-improvement. Yes, I suppose it's fun to play dress-up, and good to take pleasure in your self-image. Be comfortable with your body.
But gluing rhinestones and shiny crap to an area which discretion suggests should be only visible under certain circumstances is not the way to go.

Vajazzle.

Here's advice from someone who speaks common sense. Slightly raw -- do not read if you are prudish or at work -- but absolutely boffo.

Useful link: Don't vajazzle!

Do not jockewel or publingbling either.
Scrotinsel not at all.

I am as filthy-minded as any man, and will not deny that perhaps I might enjoy seeing pulchritudinous pudendalia. At some point, under the right circumstances, and in the fullness of time. However, I cannot think of anything less appealing than egomaniac circus-freak decoration.
I am a normal person; I like my naughtiness to be sane.
Not weirdly self-expressionistic.


It's raining all kinds of crazy out there.
Nasty batbrains.
Yep.




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