Friday, 3 February 2012

Freshen up for the ladies!

There is literally nothing more confusing to me than the sight, and sound, of other men being given advice on their sex appeal by the 'freshen up for the ladies' guy in the gents loo. Literally nothing.

Think about it for a second. These guys are sitting in a damp room, surrounded by exposed men, watching them piss, and hearing them shit, and this, THIS, is the guy who's supposed to inspire us to shell out an extra few quid for some cologne and a lolly. The only other people on the planet with the same working conditions as these guys are tramps, but at least they have the good grace to just write a note and shut up about it.

Anyway, as we know, any sales job requires a pitch, which brings me to the rest of this post abomination. This is what we, as a species, actually allowed to happen in one night, in the same bar, a couple of weeks back.

The horror began literally as soon as I walked into the gents, luckily it wasn't empty, otherwise this could have ended up in a much colder, darker place, but still. Two seconds in, and while I'm quickly assessing the situation so as not to screw up urinal etiquette, I hear a sudden chant of "No Dolce Gabbana, then she no suck your banana!" Which, I must admit, had me somewhat distracted. But yes, I actually heard that. And he kept a straight face. And it worked. People actually gave him money for that.

What the hell is the thought process of these guys who get drawn in by this?

"Yes, you are a man whose opinion I should value when it comes to making myself appealing to women. All this education I keep hearing about to further myself, develop an ability to form interesting intellectual arguments or conduct mental gymnastics, all these clever witticisms I sometimes try in an effort to get a smile are useless! Where have you been all my life you terrifying, slightly damp, strange smelling, piss soaked genius! Quick have some cash! Plaster me in cologne! Ply me with sweets! What's that? Those Lolly's have been sitting in the toilets for hours, being grabbed at by anyone and everyone who thought they could sneak out without so much as rinsing their hands? I care not! Quick, give me Lollys, the sheer sight of a man with a 3 year old's treat in his mouth will have women literally flinging themselves at me!"

But that wasn't it. Oh no, there are other rules. Different scents for different goals I guess. So, it's Dolce Gabbana for a blow job, but what other pearls of wisdom did he generously choose to impart?

Well, luckily there were a few. Eventually. Before that he devoted a good minute or two to simply chanting "Punanai punanai" over and over again. But once that was done, he revealed the secret wisdom of what I now refer to as the scale of cologne. Behold!

No Dolce Gabbana, she no suck your banana.
Get some CK One and she'll open up her bum. (again, yes, that was actually allowed to happen)
No spray no lay, no spray no lay! (Sung to the tune of 'Ole, Ole, Ole, Ole, feeling hot hot hot)
Giorgio Armani, get you some Punani!
Freshen up from you slash, get you some gash!

It was at that point that I left in confused state of horror and pity for the people left to experience what was going to evolve in that bar over the rest of the night, and firmly questioning how the hell we ever got this far as a species.

So ladies, next time you meet a guy in a bar, and you're thinking 'ohh, he smells nice, it's good to meet a guy who made an effort'. Well, he didn't, he spent about £2 on it because a tramp managed to convince him that it had worked for him before. And if he offers you one, you might want to pass on the sweets. You now know where they've been.

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