Is that burning flesh I smell? It's an important question, because if it is, it's probably mine. No open flames. No plumes of smoke. No need to panic just yet.
Sniff, sniff.
It all started a few weeks ago when I reordered my shaving cream. Before you roll your eyes, rock your head back and sigh ( and may I say, you've been doing that a lot lately. Well I did say, I guess there's no need for asking is there?), I order special shaving cream because otherwise my neck gets all icky-red and pocky. Then it starts itching, making people believe I'm some kind of plague boy. True or not, I don't need the clutched throat billboard. No matter how much ladies love plague boys.
"Get over here you festering stud!"
I'm cheap, but some things I don't skimp on. Where thin steel foil shears my flesh, I'll readily pay over the entry level $3.99 and get the good stuff. My stuff brings roses for the neck, then slips it a roofie and a local anesthetic. I wake up a half hour later in bottom of the shower feeling refreshed and clean shaven. More importantly, my neck doesn't look like I tried suicide by hair brush. It's worth the money.
With my latest order the company sent me a sample bottle of this ab stuff for free. It's called "Ab rescue body sculpting gel." If there are abs that need rescue, those abs are my abs. I like the "free" part too. I thought I'd give it a shot. The crunches definitely aren't cuttin' it. Right now I've got a 2 pack, that kind of looks more like a peach--fuzzy and all. Maybe Bob's Miracle Whip paste will do the trick. Well technically It's more gel than paste, but you get the idea. Reading the instructions, I notice the bottle also comes with some cool warnings too.
My favorite is this: Caution: Gel is flammable until it dries. Do not use near heat or open flame. Wha? I don't know what part scares me most here. The fact that they need to warn me that my torso could make a great flambé, or the thought that they think that I would put my abs anywhere near an open flame. What do they think I'm gonna do, put the gel on then candle drip wax over it, then buff it for a nice polished sheen?
Not very likely.
So now I'm thinking, Do I really want to put this on? They say "heat." How hot is "heat?" It's a summer day outside, should I ready the asbestos blanket just in case? My next thought is a little more clinical: If my smoking hot abs do catch fire (Yeah, and don't you know I've waited a long time to call my abs "Smoking hot!"), what about the fat? Doesn't belly fat burn fast and hot? I could have a grease fire flare up in no time.
Maybe I should call MyUnwife. She uses all kinds of health products. Then again, I can already hear the conversation.
"What do you think?"
"Abut what? The burning?"
"Well, more like, what are my chances?"
"Screw it. You only live once, give it a shot."
"What if it does catch fire?"
"Tell you what, I'll drive over and make sure."
"What, that I catch fire?"
"No! But I will bring a bag of marshmallows just in case."
"Yeah thanks."
"You have chocolate bars and graham crackers, right?"
Click.
I didn't call her. I won't give her and her
cell-phone camera the Google image satisfaction.
That hasn't stopped me from eying the bottle. What do I do?
Flamable…
I pull the fire extinguisher from the closet and move it to the sink counter, just in case. I stare some more. I do know how to use the fire extinguisher right? I check the label to be sure.
Pull pin…point nozzle...
Yeah, I think I can do this, so long as the burning flesh doesn't make my eyes water. Then I'm just shooting blind.
What the hell. Lets give it a go. I click open the tube the top, and squeeze a pea size dollop of blue gel in my hand. An old joke races through my mind: "what's blue and creamy? Smurf cum." Eww, it's probably warm too. Again, Eww. Probably not warm enough to set me on fire though. And certainly won't stop the Smurf village from burning down. Otherwise our parents would never let us watch the Smurfs put out a fire again. And Eww once more.
It's amazing the thought trains that roll through your mind, and what passengers they'll pick up when you're about to do something incredibly stupid.
I slap on the blue goo. It feels like lotion. No flames. That's good. I continue to rub Rob, one eye watching my belly, the other eye watching to the extinguisher.
How fast could I grab that if my hand caught fire while rubbing? That sounds like the question a twelve year old boy would ask. Once again. Eww.
There's no spontaneous Rob. (My blog readers can attest to that.) There's no Rob combustion either. Cool. Well no, not exactly cool either. My abdomen is now a little warm and tingly, sort of like when I was 15 and drank a 750ml bottle of peppermint schnapps. I praying that there's no puking this time. I didn't read the combined chemical warnings.
The warm doesn't really go away. The instructions on the bottle say to wait until the gel is dry before putting on a shirt. I think that's a good idea. I don't want to light up like a Molotov Cocktail.
I'm dry. The gel is dry. I put the shirt on. Nothing happens. I think it traps a little body heat because the belly tingle factor has just shot up to Playboy hot.
Sniff, sniff.
I'm not sure I feel safe, but there's no fire. It all should be good, but if you see something in the news. Something about a blue flame running and screaming in the streets of California. Could you at least stop and wave before taking pictures? It's the only polite thing to do before I win you the AFV millions.
Sniff, sniff.
Uhm, do you smell smoke?
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