Crabs n Badgers

Right. I assured DozyBint I would pen this anecdote for the Naafi so being a good gentleman and all that I’ve got round to fulfilling my promise…


The abuse my arrse takes is phenomenal. I’ve followed through more times than I can count with eight fingers and I have a particularly fierce affliction in the form of chafing.

The Badgers nickname comes from having an arrse ripped to shreds feeling like it had a family of Badgers living up there at one horribly sore period of my life… Seriously I kid you not - my buttcheeks were bleeding at one time with the fallout from a nasty damp hike.

I tried everything. Vaseline, tight boxers, loose boxers and even walking in the buff. (Actually I made the last one up.) One day, however, I had a “brainwave”. Compeed!

Compeed. Two pads. Large. Butt-application for the use of. I cunningly stuck them to each side of my chasm for Exercise Green Malarkey. I was walking like a penguin for about half an hour until the beggars softened up and stopped pinching my hoop. [I almost got a new nickname of “Crabs” from that but I suppressed it due to the way young females would look at me when a mate called out “hey Crabs” from across the bar.]

Anyway the Compeed softened up and surprisingly it worked and kept my arrse chafage-free for the whole fun-filled time crawling through ditches and getting utterly lost in the middle of Salisbury Plain. As one does.

Hurrah thought I! The solution to my problem!

Then I tried to get the little shi’ites off. 8O
Oh. Bugger.
I lay in the bath for about twenty minutes with an expression on my face like a young Chinese girl losing her anal virginity to a horse-hung porn star. I gradually peeled back the gluey thing. I now have eternal respect for every female who waxes. Never again will I call it the sport of tarts and bhatti boys.

I finally got a pad off and then lay sobbing like a girl unable to face removing the other. Although I hate to admit it, I had to suppress full-blooded screams as the second patch broke loose, taking half my anal hair plus most of the skin with it.

I lay back in the water, and heaved a great sigh of relief. I subtly pokeyed around in the Southern areas to check for blood loss but was horrified to find not a baby’s-bum smooth patch, but bits of flaking skin and blobs of glue clumped onto patches of hair that had survived the culling! :oops:

I yanked one off and felt a pain similar to a 33000 volt electrode being applied to my starfish and causing a spasm of pain that ricocheted up my spine. This was not going to be simple.

I thought about trying White Spirit but the thought of applying corrosive chemicals anywhere near my backside was enough to send my sphincter into an epileptic fit.

I tried cutting the feckers off. I crouched over a mirror and admired the hundreds of bead-sized globules hanging onto hairs like Shelob dangling from a stalactite. I tried to manoeuvre my penknife-scissors into a glue-decapitation position but the combination of being utterly knackered and the mirror effect only conspired to make me stab my hoop. I pity gay men.

I had no other option. I had to pull ‘em off. For days afterwards I was seen in a pensive and thoughtful mood, wandering around with my hand firmly in my pants, only stopping to give a small yelp and an expression that was just calling out to be seen in slow-motion to enjoy the contortions my spasming facial muscles produced.

I was left with a patchy bum-muff for a while which was, errm, well, interesting 8O. It felt like the crack was permanently lubricated but the skin was so damaged it gave the sensation of smooth-slipping sandpaper.

Never again.
It 'chaps my fanny' to think of yer troubles mate.

Might try 'moleskin' pads...just remember the adhesive does not go on your skin (what's left of it)...and lots of corn starch applied freely to affected areas.

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