dont shave your ass hair!!!
 

Took this off of some site i forgot long ago, and wanna share this wid everyone in here.

ASS HAIR

I have recently made a mistake in my life, and I offer my story to all though tasteless, that you may learn from my error. It all started, as many things do, with me having trouble pooping. No, I was not constipated; this was not a regularity problem but a matter of technique.
It seems my ss-hair had grown to such a length that tiny grogans were constantly getting tied up in the matted jungle between my asscheeks. It led to much frustration, with me KNOWING that I still had something to drop, but unable to shake the tenacious turd loose from its butthair dwelling.

Eventually I would have to do two things: either reach down with somepaper and try to pinch off the lingering loaf (which required careful precision to avoid smearing the creature all over my rear, especially since I had no way of seeing what I was doing) or just go for broke, start wiping, and hope that I could remove all the leftover fecal matter before the toilet paper reached its Can't-Be-Flushed threshold. I was contemplating this problem, when I had what seemed at the time to be a bright idea. "Hey, this is my butt and my butt-hair, right? So why don't I just eliminate all the hair, and then my grogans will flow out like beer from a keg!" I said to myself. It is a statement that will go down in history with a lot of other regretted statements. "How many Indians could there be?" said by General Custer. "Looks like a good day for a drive!" by JFK. "There! America On-line now has complete Usenet access!" by some idiot system tech. Such was my anal shaving idea.

I performed the operation that night, with a cheap disposable razor and a towel to sit on. Starting from the bottom, and shaving from the crack to the cheeks, I began the arduous process of ridding my ass of hair. Occasionally, I would have to clean the razor of accumulated hair, which I did by wiping it on the towel. Slowly, my twin mounds and the between-ravine began to resemble the hairless cheeks of a newborn babe. Finally, I wiped the razor one last time, and surveyed my work. The towel was covered with a pile of hair. My ass was smooth as ivory. I smiled, satisfied, thinking my troubles were over.

Little did I know. I now have a great respect for anal-hair. Like everything in this world God created, it has its mighty purpose in existence. It was only after I had removed it that I started to learn how much I had been taking it for granted. For one, it provides friction. I learned this the next day, when I walked out into the sun heading for class. After climbing two flights of stairs and starting to sweat, I started to notice something unpleasant. The sweat was accumulating in my crack, and was causing the unpleasant sensation of my two asscheeks sliding past each other with every step. I thought about going to the bathroom and wiping it off, but had to get to class. Eventually, I
thought, it would dry. Unfortunately, it did dry, but only after mingling with the microscopic poop -molecules lingering around my brown starfish. When I stood up after class, my cheeks were stuck together with a slimy sticky poop/sweat combination. As I made my way back to my dorm, it started to itch. God-DAMN, did it itch! Felt like a swarm of ants was making its way up and down my crack. Fighting to keep from jamming my hand down there
and scratching away, I rushed back to the dorm. Unfortunately, this exertion caused me to sweat, and when I finally
reached my room, my cheeks were sliding back and forth against each other like a pair of horny cane-toads. I quickly dropped my pants, and attempted to dry my ass off by sticking it in front of a fan and spreading my cheeks.

As I pulled the two mounds of flesh apart, a horrible stench burst free and filled the room. Every dog within a 4 block radius started to howl. I had it worst of all, as the ripe aroma of festering poop/sweat went into the fan and blew back into my face. I fought to keep from heaving. And as I sat there, fighting vomit, my ass cheeks spread and dripping, with the concentrated aroma of my body odor mixed with the tangy smell of my own poop blowing right into my face, I had only one thought: "It will be like this until the hair grows back. Weeks." Later on, trying to deal as best I could, wiping my ass at every opportunity, I discovered another wonderful use for ass-hair - ventilation. I attempted to launch a fart, only to have it get stuck between my asscheeks.

Apparently, with no hair, the two pink twins can get vacuum sealed together, and the result was a frustrating fart that slid up and down between my cheeks like a lost gerbil. As if that wasn't
enough, I am now enduring further torture. As anyone who has ever shaved anything knows, when hair is first growing in, it comes in as stubble. Imagine your ass having the texture of a brillo pad.

Well, that is what I am dealing with now. It is a hellish torture, and there are many times when I just look out the window and contemplate why I shouldn't just jump out and get it all over with in one fleshy splat, rather than endure this constant agony.

Friends-DON'T SHAVE YOUR ASS-HAIR!"

Uh...thanks for the tip, Chauncey. Here, have a Drano cocktail. On the house.

Don't chunnel!!!

I was watching american wedding and the groom shaved their ass hair. It ended up in the wedding cake!

I thought this was already posted... Maybe I am wrong and I saw it on another forum, or another Zelaron...

No he didn't. He shaved his pubic hair around his penis, and might have gotten down there a little, but that wasn't the intention.

Eh, the only way that guy could have had that much problems with shaving his ass is if he is a complete fat ass, which he sounds. The entent of his toture is unjustified.

Oh my FUCKING god that is the funniest thing I've EVER EVER EVER EVER EVER READ.

I was seriously LMAO and almost ROFL.

It was demeaning.

I wish he would take a dump on my chest.

7 characters.

de·mean

To conduct or behave (oneself) in a particular manner: demeaned themselves well in class.

It's from EHOWA.

http://www.ehowa.com/tasteless/shaveyourass.shtml

Taken from http://www.ehowa.com/tasteless.shtml.

You should never cut the buttgrass.

It doesn't "Provide friction"

It provides dry lubrication, or prevents friction...

Today I am here to relate to you the story of the Africola bottle. To start things off, Africola is one of the substitutes for Coca-cola used in Europe.

I was stationed in Germany at the time this wondrous soda hit the market. It came in a tapered, hourglass-shaped bottle similar to the Coca-cola bottle that you all know so well, and it tasted like flat, caramel piss. The bottle was a little smaller than the old time ones, but it did the same trick for orifice penetration. I wonder who came up with the design.

Did you ever see the movie that took place sometime in the mid 1950's or something? It was about a storeowner (and also local bigot) who had way too much money somewhere in Louisiana. He used to abuse his spouse like nobody's business (at the time, it was nobody's business). One day he was extremely pissed at the old lady and decided to give her a good reaming with his Coca-cola bottle right there on a busy day in the store. She wound up having to serve the next customer as blood dripped from her flaming rectum onto the floor.

But I digress [as I always seem to do].

It was Tom, Mike, Jeff, and I in Munich during Oktoberfest 1988. We were getting our full swill of thick German beer that would knock an elephant on its ass. The big-breasted, big-armed German women served a dozen steins of beer at a time and gave us chubbies that just wouldn't quit. We fantasized about their large, muscular asses pumping repeatedly against our groins for hours on end. For three days, we went into blackout drive, drinking beer until our bellies couldn't hold any more. Occasionally we would vomit some up into the gutter and get right back into our nocturnal alcoholic activities.

Sometimes when we went out into the great European wonderland, we would pick up some of the wondrous skank that foreign lands are famous for. Swedes, Morrocans, Fins, and of course Germans. Actually, the best blowjob I ever had in my life was by a 14-year-old by the name of Yvonne in a park in Worms, Germany. Jeff can vouch for the quality of her choad swallowing.

The ones that you really don't want to mess with are the Turkish girls. They usually look pretty good with their dark skin and whatever tight dress they are wearing at the time. Many an American soldier has sniffed after their rear ends like dogs in heat.

But the truth of the matter is, if you ever actually get to screw one, their relatives seem to get a trifle angry about it. I'm talking bloodthirsty angry. Good old Muhammed, Achmet, and the rest of his clan will learn about your carnal exploits with their relatives within minutes of the act appearing out of thin air.

Usually this happens in a crowded bar right after all of your friends have gone to another pub.

Visualize this: Maha gets up to go powder her nose. You kick back in the seat of your favorite corner of the Smash Disco and suck on a Weizen Bier. Ahhhh...she's a good one - you think to yourself. Reminiscing about the way her groin muscles contract at just the right time when you were ready to blow your goo. You raise your hand towards the waitress for another round, and POOF! It's Achmet.

You've seen him around, and vaguely remember him being a cousin, brother, father, lover, whatever of your new main squeeze Maha. You nod your head at him in recognition. To your horror, he pulls out the biggest stiletto you have ever seen. The blade looks like a contestant for the Guinness Book of World Records.

Lucky for you, 6 steins of beer and 5 shots of Asbach are swilling around in your head making you the modern age equivalent of the Incredible Hulk (without the green skin dye). You jump to your feet and bust a beer bottle against the table, holding it by the neck as your newly acquired Vorpal Blade.

BAM! Achmet's family unfolds like paper dolls.

They all have knives in relative proportion to Achmet's and are ready to skin you alive for having safe sex with Maha (who now seems to have fallen off of the face of the earth). Tom, Mike, and Jeff are now over at the Mad Cafe sucking down shots during happy hour, and all you have to rely on is the local Polizei to break up the fight before another fatality occurs in everyone's favorite bar...

That's pretty close to what it's all about - sleeping with the world and all. I wouldn't recommend it unless you come prepared. Maybe these days the bad guys carry derringers or small zip guns. I wouldn't put it past them.

However, I do recommend the Doener Kebab, they make a great mutton-in-pita-bread with garlic sauce.

Anyway, back to the story of the Africola bottle. After the probable homicide I just discussed, this lifestyle may not seem so appealing. Tom, Mike, Jeff, and I are now wandering in our drunken stupor from the Strassenbahn. We decide that the park is a good shortcut to get back to our hotel when LO AND BEHOLD the woman of our dreams appears.

From this point on, I cannot verify the validity of my own ramblings. More than likely, the girl mentioned below is a bag lady looking for an easy 50-pfennig piece. Here she is in all her glory. Seductively poised on the park bench. The moonlight catching her hair, her eyes glinting with seductive fire. She smiles at us, and we all glance at each other with those knowing eyes in a drunken stupor.

Mike: "Yep."

Jeff:unreeling his hose-like monster:: "Heh heh."

Tom: "Wahnsinn." (in a disquieting, unaccented voice)

Me: "All right!"

Blindly we engage in a drunken orgy....does it actually require more than one woman to qualify as an orgy?...Anyway, we roll into the bushes with the girl. Mike, being the the routing male that he is, mounts her quickly, and Jeff drops his schlong into her mouth. I stand back playing pocket pool with myself and move in closer. Tom pulls his pud out and begins pushing it up against the side of her face, and I follow suit.

Jeff discharges his load down her throat pretty quickly and steps back, zipping up his pants - too drunk to even smile about it. Tom nuzzles the head of his choad against her nose and into her eye socket. Mike drops a load in her quim, then moves around to the side to play with his dick ooze on her left tit.

I maneuver myself to push my ready-to-go organ into her mouth, and Tom rolls her over into the doggie position and crams it home.

Whether with true excitement or pain, I don't know, she begins a wonderful, rhythmic moaning.... sort of like a banshee. That part of it I remember like yesterday. The other details are foggy, but I am pretty sure that I was going to blow a good drunken load. However, fate had other plans for my skanky little orgasm.

Tom, a great friend and seriously deranged individual, is now too drunk to enjoy the old jism shot. He has a terrible case of whiskey dick and thinks he can get his rocks off in a better way. A glinting object off to the side of our gathering disclosed the existence of an empty Africola bottle in the grass.

Tom grabbed the Africola bottle firmly in his left hand, and after removing his pecker from her juicy twat, pushed just a little bit of the top of it into her sphincter. She let a moan just a little bit louder as he did this.

I thought that this was going to be good, so I pulled out of her mouth to get a better view. Mike and Jeff leaned forward to get a good angle on the penetration. Then...

POW!!!!

Tom slams the whole bottle home with a hard smack of his right hand to the bottom of the bottle, and it buries itself at least 5 inches into her rectum.

She let out with the loudest shriek I have ever heard in my life.

As we ran from the scene of this horrific sexual assault, I remember looking back seeing the half-naked woman pulling the bottle out of her anus, cursing us in the most foul-mouthed German I have ever heard.

-Sergeant Zeno.


Holy fucking shit damn.

It does cause more sweat though. Uncomfortable at times sweat..

I really don't want to know how you know that.

Hmm, I wonder how it is for girls everyday.....

Take a wild guess. When I go commando, I really go commando!

hmm, anyone know of stories similar to this?

Wow, why would you possibly want more stories along this line?