You smell him a mile away and it’s more than a whiff.
It’s a smell that’s so obnoxious, it invades your nostrils like an actually militaristically efficient North Korea. The odour travels up your nose up to your olfactory sensibilities and you feel disgust. The smell reminds you of every instance someone didn’t hold a door for you or when every time you’ve been boxed out of a group conversation.
This abhorrent smell is exactly the kind of smell to send a “U up?” text. Actually, if this smell had a phone, it would send a “haha, then what?” text. The smell – which was probably the result of God looking away and letting it rip – is none other than Axe body spray.
What is this, 2011? Did someone actually spend $4 thinking weiner hungry models are going to come out of bushes and climb their legs? That was a commercial, you dummy! You whip your head around to see what douche is emitting this pseudo-gasoline funk. And you see him and he’s actually what you think he would look like. He’s got a polo shirt, salmon coloured shorts and boat shoes. He’s wearing boat shoes for crying out loud – and there’s no country club for miles.
But then you take a closer look.
Under the stench of artificial sexual prowess, you see a scared little boy. His eyes are frightened. These small eyes, that are arguably too far apart, are wishing that the Axe body spray will mask his fragile self-esteem. Seeing how uncomfortable he is in his skin and how he strokes his hair like a nervous tick, you put the pieces together that he had mistaken Axe body spray for pressurized, liquid courage.
He thinks maybe – and just maybe – if he empties half of the can on his body and skin, no one will try get to know him and automatically accept him as “cool and mysterious”. Does he know that he can’t substitute the spray for a personality and massive pickup game? In a progressive revelation that would normally cost thousands of dollars of therapy, you realize that he who wears Axe body spray is more scared of you than you are of him.
Like a poor bitty spider stuck in a bathtub, he is tiny and afraid. Behind the makeshift aerosol shower is someone who just wants to be loved. Well, if “love” was being showered in and by equally insecure women who didn’t quite make it as actresses
Realistically, the Axe body spray itself will be washed off with its wearer sweating his balls off talking to any woman or reciting their CoGro order to themselves before they talk to the barista.
Through this internal monologue and travelling the continuum of emotions, you’re finally at peace. As you walk into the sunset – away from the masked sweat that is Axe body spray – you whisper, “Good bye, sweet prince.”