Although I am not by any stretch of the imagination an urban sophisticate and I always make a point of spitting after I say the word “cosmopolitan,” it has been impossible for me this summer not to notice the significant cultural trend shiftings, particularly while I have been watching the topless beach volleyball through my binoculars from the terrace of my retirement home here in the beautiful Las Canarias.

Si!  I am now a metro-gnome!!

In particular, I have been noticing that the young men on the beach this year have not been wearing any hair. This has been giving them the opportunity to show off their guns, buns, and sex pack, which I understand is most alluring to the ladies but also, in my opinion, is a sign of the emasculation of men and the shrivelling of their gonuts as a result of the feminization of everything, including the water, the politics, the education, the society in general, and even the army, which in Spain now have a lady in charge! If that is not the height of unnaturalness, then it is a close second behind a talking fish who plays darts and works in haberdashery. In Spain, of course, we have an entire industry devoted to the removal of hair in ladies, which is as it should be. After Eve make Adam eat the apple, God punished her with childbirth and, in the case of Spanish ladies, with a wiry moustache that render her indistinguishable from the men were it not for impressive buttocks and the invention of Veet (In Mayo, I understand, this same feature is refer to as the “Curse of the Armada” thanks to all the in-breeding that go on with the wrecked sailors there). In men, however, this smoothness of appearance is altogether disconcerting. On several occasions this week I found myself lingering over the tight, pert buttocks and lithe long bronzed legs and strong muscular toned back of what I assumed was a superior athletic specimen of German Frauleinness, only for her to turn round and have no bamps whatsoever and a bulging crotchbag with all the gizzardings. It nearly make me puke!

And this happen no less that seventeen times.

So, of course, I am doing what I am always doing when confronted with deviant behaviour. I phone the police, I pray, and I consult my next-door neighbours, the Mengeles, to ask them if they can shed any lights on the behaviour of the younger generation: The Mengeles are not young themselves, of course, but this part of the island is very popular with the German youth, or Jugend, as I believe they are called, and Herr Mengele has an unrivalled collection of photographs of virile young German men, in both black and white and colour, so I knew he would be up and running with the fashisms.

Apparently, this new rage for hairylessness is being caused by a fabulous new anti-homosexual movie that is taking the Europe by storm called Saint BrüNo, about a Swiss fashism reporter from Austria who is a big fan of the Führer and spends his time insulting blacks and Americans.  Already apparently all the gays in America are up in their arms about it. To me, this is wonderful and cheering news that the young people are embracing the homophobia and racism in such a big way, so when I hear this news from Herr Mengele, I decide that, in order to show my solidarity with the youth, I will emulate them this summer and join the craze by also removing my body hair and showing off in a humble and appropriately modest way my impressive and also diminutive physique.

Before the Esperiment

So I go with Herr Mengele down to the local hypermarket and, lo and behold, there are already all manner of products for the men to help them remove their hair, which only go to show how quickly the capitalists are to cash in on everything. “Typical Jews,” says Herr Mengele, although I am not sure that Veet is a Jewish name. We are stock up on the Veet cream gel for men for doing the hairy chest and back, the Veet Mousse for men for doing the arms and legs and more delicate estremities, the Veet Wax for Moustaches, although I already have a cutthroat razor blade, and also the Veet Wax Strips for Men, which are for doing what the esperts call the Backpack and Hacky sack.

Now, as you are all know, I am already a very hirsute diminutive Spanish man, and my hairs have been used by local children for years for removing the rust off their bicycles, so even though the Veet carton box is says that I should leave the cream on for only between 4 and 6 minutes, I know full well that this will barely even scratch the surface. It would leave me looking like a hairy version of Andy Garcia and nobody would understand my message of solidarity. So after I have strip down and Herr Mengele has lathered me up from head to toe in the cream, mousse and wax strips, I say to him,

“I will go now and have my siesta on my hammock on the terrace, Herr Mengele. Danke por your help. Come back in an hour and we’ll see if this shit works.”

Around about thrity minutes later, there was this bump.  And then when I wake up, I am find myself on the tiles of my terrace and in absolute agony. I had fallen asleep for my siesta and in the meantime the Veet have eaten through the canvas of my hammock and the rope that is holding it to the awning and I am falling through onto the floor and waking up with bumping my head. Then the pain of the bumped head is overtaken by the searing burning of my flesh all over my body when it is reminding me that I am all covered in corrosive cosmetics.

During the Esperiment

Naturally, I do the first thing which come into my head, which is to scream and then to pray.  Then I leap over the wall of my terrace and straight for the beach, through the volleyball pitch, where I stop to say hello to the nice topless ladies, then immediately into the cool, refreshing sea, at which point I am able to shed all of my cream, inhibitions, hair, skin, and so on. Although, of course, as you know, the sea is also the saltwater, which, while is also very good for healing and its antisceptic properties, is also very soremaking indeed on raw flesh, and also makes you shrivel even more than you already are shrivelled thanks to the coldness, the burningness, and the being a small diminutive shrivelled Spanish man to begin with.

After the Esperiment

Herr Mengele when he find me bring me a nice fluffy bathroom towel to wrap around me, once he have finished picking himself up off the beach in hystericals and the pointing and laughing, but he was largely sympathetic also and offer to take me back to his house where he have some very soothing aloe vera gel which he would like to massage slowly all over into my body while smoking a pipe, which was very kind of him, I think. He also decided when I get into his home to use the opportunity to make a more thorough and close inspection of all my body.  We was discovering, much to my amusement, now that my hair have all gone, that I have four hernias, two penises, and one buttock. Is no wonder I could not fit into my Speedos!

The last time I have no hair on my body was probly before puberty, at the age of 8, and I have forgotten since that time how soft and vulnerable the human body can be. We men in general of course try to make our bodies as hard and blistery and calloused as possible, particularly the palms of our hands, so that it feels like someone else doing it, and the hair is helps us to disguise our general meatiness and similarity to pigs. In the short time that I was without hair (it had all grown back within four hours), I learned that having no hair makes it possible to precisely locate an open window in the house just by the cool air blowing past your anus. Also that your buttocks are permanently wet with all the head sweat if you do not have back hair to trap it on the way down. And that we have five toes, not three, as I thought.  In addition, I also felt very clean for the duration of my hairlessness, but it was a cleanliness that was also dirty, because it was clean in a rude way. I could see, smell and touch everything. This is not what God intended.

I shall not therefore be continuing with my depillating. Why, after all, should I put myself in the way of temptation? And indeed also all the nubile lusty young ladies playing on the beach. God knows that I find myself difficult enough to resist. Imagine what it would do to them to be esposed to my muscles and penises every morning. They would be taking their eyes of the balls completely!!