Check it, Peons: Your CNN Humiliation Compartmentalized

Monday, March 26, 2007


Thursday's post got me to thinking about pubic hair.
Here in New York, it seems that female pubic hair is nearly extinct, what with all the painful, intricate and expensive ways in which women groom their nether regions. You'd think there wasn't a single female pubic hair left in the whole city. Men also seem to be doing quite a bit of pruning. We are truly living in anti-pube times. For several years now it has been a thriving industry, this taming of the bush.
An ex-CNNer friend of mine (you knew I'd work a CNN connection into this post) told me a story about her waxer recently. This strapping woman came to America to escape hardship in Russia, only to find work as a pube waxer. Day in day out, until the work whistle blows, she stares at snatch and removes pubes. Apparently one day she sat down to eat a hard-earned McDonald's hamburger, only to realize there was pubic hair trapped under her fingernails.
Somehow I doubt she's living her American Dream.
Hmm...I seem to have gotten off topic...
This post is ultimately about a phenomenon that continues to haunt me, even in this pube-sparse era:
Have you ever been sitting in a dentist's office, or wandering around a hotel lobby, or buying a wrench at a hardware store and suddenly you spy, in the most unlikely place-THE LONE PUBE?
It's never a cluster. It's just one. You'll lean in closer and rub your eyes. Indeed, you were right, because there it is:
The Lone Pube resting carelessly on an arm rest, next to the jar of mayo on a refrigerator shelf, on the pettle of a tacky silk floral arrangement, in the cupholder of an SUV, mocking you with it's curly, bold pubic-ness.
Much like my dwarfy little legs strutting on a catwalk, The Lone Pube knows it's out of place. But it still commands attention.
Or how about The Permanent Lone Pube? I was on jury duty once, looked down and saw The Lone Pube had been shellacked into the courtroom floor. Just the other day I noticed The Lone Pube had been painted into a wall in my apartment.
Which brings me to my other point:
The Lone Pube sneaks up on you. I've been living in this tiny apartment for 5 years. How did I not notice it?
And how do they travel so far, these Lone Pubes? How do they get from their rightful nest all the way to the top of the coffeemaker? A strong breeze? Telekinesis? Or deliberate placement by unsanitary pranksters?

If anyone has any theories, please pass them along. I've spent far too much time trying to figure this out. I need some concrete answers already. Or, if you spy The Lone Pube that has migrated to a particularly remote region, far away from its usual surroundings, please snap a photo or draw a delightful sketch and e-mail it to It will be posted promptly for all to admire.

P.S. How about the saucy lady in the above black and white photo? No, that's not underwear. That's reason number 803,743 to be grateful that we don't live in the 19th century...


Anonymous said...

I once spotted the lone pube in the tacky finger.

My theory on this, and another reason why being a VJ was so humiliating, one couldn't afford decent lube.

However, I'm sure the cheap soap they stocked in the restroom would have led to a much more pleasant rubbing-one-out experience. Which now leads to me believe that the undersexed VJ actually conducted business in the scripts area.

J said...

I suddenly feel the urge to swiffer.