Merkin For Me Mister

I didn’t much enjoy the overly-long pirate-themed movie I just sat through. Maybe that was because, like all cash-grubbing and exhaustive-merchandising second movies of a trilogy, it had no real beginning and certainly no satisfying conclusion. Maybe it was because some part of me feels uncomfortable about depictions of murderous criminals, such as pirates and mobsters, as lovable, humorous protagonists. Or maybe it was because I was too distracted by thoughts of the wiry pube Mr. Lonie left on the toilet seat this evening.

There it was, a lonely short-and-curly sullying the spot I must needs place my own posterior, a reminder of the act that Mr. Lonie had just performed to bring said hair in contact with the seat, as if the evidence left by the turdo-charged waste vehicle wasn’t enough.

While I know it would be horribly effeminate and not a little bit weird, I couldn’t help wondering if Mr. Lonie’s groinal wilderness might ever be deforested to the point that, were we living in Elizabethan times, he would commission the making of a nice bushy merkin. At least then I wouldn’t constantly be fishing loose pubes out of the children’s bath water after the errant hairs work themselves loose from the non-slip rubber mat they’ve managed to become entangled in.

Mr. Lonie’s careless moulting could have been worse. At least a pube on a dunny is better than a redback, and besides, in a world where everything is relative, it made Keira Knightley so much easier to bear.