Thursday, November 25, 2010

Axe bodyspray, the canned gasoline sixth graders use to mask the stench of their compulsive masturbating, has a new scent called Music. Music is a preferable title to the one that would actually describe its contents, which would be Mosquito Repellent. Other Axe scents include Vice, Touch, and Dark Temptation, which attempt to create a brand vision of the young, athletic male who is hounded by sexy women, which contrasts wildly with the reality of the chubby twelve year-old video game addict who is hounded with embarrassment after getting an erection during the V-sit stretch test in gym class and hopes the half-can of Axe he sprays on himself will either disguise the fact that his once-a-week bathing schedule is no longer sufficient, or will kill his brain enough to make him forget about the boner that he’s pretty sure his crush saw and he’s pretty sure she wasn’t impressed with.

If humans produce pheromones, they do not smell like Axe. If a guy uses Axe and attracts a woman who likes the smell, be warned that she probably lives in a trash can and drinks dishwashing detergent.

Axe should be sold in gardening stores as an animal repellent that will keep every living creature away from your plants. Even the mangiest, rabid raccoon with syphilis and a gimp leg is classier than Axe and would rather get hit by a car than eat anything tainted with the stuff.

Axe sells gift boxes that contain a can of flammable bodyspray, a stick of flammable deodorant, and a bottle of flammable shower gel wrapped in one convenient package that is the easiest way to tell the recipient that you do not care about them, because if you did you would not be giving them an Improvised Explosive Device for Christmas. That box contains all of the necessary equipment to turn each and every sweaty middle-school boy into a flaming vision from Hell. With just one spark, that kid could light up like a barbecue and if he then unathletically jogs into another boy, they could set off a chain reaction of acne-plagued fireballs that would end only when every male in the whole school has been reduced to a pile of Windex-scented ash. The parents wouldn’t even be able to identify which pile of ash is theirs because they would all say, “My boy smelled like bug spray,” and each pile smells like bug spray and all of the people who could differentiate between the Vice bug spray and the Dark Temptation bug spray are now mounds of black dust.

Here’s the morning routine of the average sixth-grade student. Wake up. Consider shower. Opt for the Axe and spray until the bathroom mirror fogs and you cough a few times and your mom yells up to ask if you’re okay. Yell down that you’re fine and she needs to get off your back. Listen to her yell up that you have a bad attitude. Put on a shirt with either a dragon or flames on it and a pair of cargo shorts with enough pockets to hold all twelve of your Axe cans. Grab a handful of carcinogenic hair gel and mold your greasy tangle of hair into a crispy crown that anoints you King of the Gamecube and looks like a bird’s nest. Check yourself out in the mirror and consider how sweet you look. Spray on more Axe because you’re concerned that you shirt is blocking your smell. Have your mom drive you to school and tell her that you don’t care about your bad grades because you’re going to be a professional skateboarder.

Now when the kid gets to school, here’s where it gets tricky. He must avoid open flames for the next eight hours, lest his kerosene-soaked body ignites.

So the plight of the sixth-grade body is that Axe bodyspray not only makes him stink and repel asthmatics, it also puts him in danger of immolation. In conclusion, my advice for twelve year-old boys is to take a shower.