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Pucker Up!
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Pucker Up!

So, I'm finishing up my morning swim this AM and I'm wheeze-staggering toward the locker room. I've got Rush's "2112" coursing through my head because I decided to rock a Best-o'-Rush mix during my workout. Why? Because I hate all music at this point and I'm starting over -- I'm rewinding to age 12 and declaring a do-over.

As I fling open the locker room door, I'm greeted by a dude, naked as a plucked Butterball mind you, his ass jutted out, pointed at the mirror and his extended forefinger wiping some fucking unguent on his puckered bunghole. (I didn't see that his bunghole was puckered... I just ass-umed.) And I shit you not, this line from Rush was going through my head...

"What can this strange device be? When I touch it... it gives forth a sound..."

The dude didn't fucking flinch when he saw me. He just continued applying, like some kind of rectally agitated downhill skier who was "in the zone":

He did glance over at me for a second, long enough to see me half-grin as I thought "And there's my blog post for today!" But then he turned his attention to the mirror and back to the task at hand... er, finger.

My question is, what sort of person does this? Who moistens one's dumper in the middle of a bustling lockerroom? And, if one decides to do this, why does one need to look in the goddamn mirror? It's not like he was applying lipstick and didn't want to color outside his lip-line. The concentration and attention to detail -- it was like he was painting some sort of masterpiece on his taint. He's a regular Pablo Picasshole.

Dudes, man. They never cease to surprise and disgust me.