KEVIN MENZ / CHRIS LOOPKEY
Opinions Writers

Before the dawn of man, pubic hairs were all up on the crotches of Neanderthals, chimpanzees and dinosaurs.

Unlike today, they were never held back after leaving their man-fields — they were free to roam wherever they chose, as drifters in the wind, tumbling, searching for the Great Valley. Today, however, with the development of the urinal, pubic hairs have been stuck in a land of white porcelain and splash-back.

Though there have been many pubic hairs subjected to this fate of urinal-dormancy, their stories remain heartbreaking and disturbing. Observe as we go down into the darkness, exploring the life of man’s best friend and worst enemy — the most peculiar pubic hair.

Aside from the founders of the pubic region, who claim the scarce and fuzzy land during puberty, the pube begins its journey as a tiny hair molecule of coarse curl and, eventually, becomes one amongst the many; it becomes a major part of a well-developed and shiny bush. Its hormonal journey — which occasionally causes itching — is centered upon a web of brotherhood. For days and nights it sits without sun, kept alive only through the natural warmth of its creator, the camaraderie of its kin and its optimistic hope for a brighter, more light-filled tomorrow.

The time then comes when the pube must leave home.

Although sometimes intentional, this phenomenon — the loss of a pube — is often caused by an unwarranted scratch or grab from “The Almighty.” With the window of light opening like an upside-down curtain, the pube optimistically embraces its future and detaches itself from its Holy Land.

While in the past it would slowly fall like a feather to the ground and run along the blades of grass in the field, today it stops short of that fate and tragically sits up on the lips of Mr. Urinal.

“Fuck. You again?” says Mr. Urinal, dissappointedly.

The pube has no knowledge of its impending doom — a life left waiting for Mr. or Mrs. Janitor to wipe him off the slums of male bathrooms everywhere.

It is time that we as humans started to do something about those little pubic hairs that sit on the edges of urinals and toilet seats everywhere.

With the prospect of ’70s bush making a fashionable comeback, the reality of the issue is that urinal-pubes might be here to stay. However, the pubes are not to blame: they are the victims of a pandemic stemming from their own mishandled and misguided treatment.

Pube-droppers, you deserve a non-sexual, old-school-discipline spanking. You are a curse on society, constantly dropping your little buddies upon the lips of Mr. Urinal. He hates you, and so do we — we hate having to stare down in fear at you when we select a urinal.

Also, since we’re on the topic, what is up with friends who drop pubes — going to your house and leaving a curly one (sometimes the infamous ass-hair) sitting right on the seat. This might be even grosser than a stranger dropping one on a strange toilet. Show some respect! Friends don’t drop pubes on friends’ toilets.

Anyway, please, if you are a hipster, a traditionalist or just lazy with your shaving techniques, be more conscious of your pullout (no, not that pullout) and sit-down techniques when it comes to urinal and toilet etiquette.

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photo: Robby Davis