Pipes frozen? No showers? No washing machine? No fun? Wrong! Sure, no running water ain’t no tooth-chippin’ rad party time, but it sure ain’t as bad as your mommy said it’d be either.
I’m fairly certain that I’ve never before gone such long periods of time sans bathing. Greasy hair, grubby hands, and crusty pants used to be a thing of my hitch-hiking summer-vacation days, back when I listened to Reagan Youth and drank lots of cheap wine. Shucks, even when I was just a baby and couldn’t even wipe myself my mom would occasionally dunk me in the dirty dishwater.
Praise be to the almighty Flying Spaghetti Monster that I live relatively close to the big city, bright lights, and hot showers that are to be found all over Tbilisi. The FSM works in mysterious ways, and, probably because of my charity work with disabled marsupials, s/he has awarded me with some radtarded friends who rent a flat in Tbilisi.
Not only do they let me sleep in their place and use their shower, but they also provide some scintillating conversation regarding the works of Pauly Shore and which character from the cast of Gilligan’s Island is babe-liest of all.
Some say Mary-ann, others say Ginger, personally I’m totally hot for Gilligan
A place to sleep, hot showers AND friends? You might be asking yourself how it could get any better. Well I’ll tell you. Sunday afternoon? Hungover? Cook up a super-gnar breakfast to start the day!
All we need is some cocksauce and we’ll be unstoppable
Now at this point you might be thinking, “Well why doesn’t he quit mooching off his friends and just take a bath like they did in that Wild West movie with Jackie Chan?” Well, for one, I ain’t no cowboy. Two, I ain’t livin’ in no sa-loon. And three, that would mean getting out of my chair, putting on clothes (yes, I sit at my computer nude), finagling some buckets, finding snow that isn’t brown or yellow, filling aforementioned buckets with said snow, hauling buckets back to the stove, melting previously mentioned snow, hauling buckets to the bath, taking off my clothes, pouring snow (now magically transformed into hot water) on myself, scrubbing myself with some sort of soapy bar, and well…you get the idea. Now why would a FSM-fearing-he-man like myself go to all that work when I can not do all that stuff and just sit here, in my stanky birthday suit, providing you heathens with detailed information surrounding my boring life? The answer: I don’t know…and it doesn’t matter cause I don’t do all that stuff anyways.
Now not all of you fellow stinkers out there have been blessed as I have by the almighty FSM. I realize that some of you might be way the shuck out there with no nearby access to hot showers, or no friends, or no friends with showers. Whatever you’re situation might be, fear not, for I have not just one, but three get-stoked solutions that I will share with you now cause I’m such a swell guy.
1. Imagine it’s the 60’s.
2. Imagine you’re a homeless person with a temporary home (i.e. a recent liberal-arts-major grad sleeping on their parent’s couch).
3. Imagine you’re living post-apocalypse.
It’s amazing how a little imagination can take care of all of your self-conscious personal hygiene issues.
Until next time, take care & stay stinky!