Friday, March 13, 2009


Well, today I hit the gym early. What did I forget to bring? you ask. Well, you know me too well. Let’s see, over the past couple of weeks I’ve forgotten dress socks and my laptop, both in the same day. Another time I forgot my gym socks. But today, I decided to switch it up a little bit and forget my undershirt. Now granted the undershirt is not a max severity forgotten item, but it’s important to me as 1. I have sensitive nipples and 2. (this is difficult to admit) I’m a recovering victim of Sweating Man’s Disease.

What is SMD? Sweating Man’s Disease (aka Swamp Ass) is a horrible affliction affecting teenage boys who grew up on the west side of Cleveland. It is characterized by, well, a whole lot of sweating. (I think we were pretty clear with the issues when we named it.) This isn’t like a lot of sweating when you’re running a marathon or playing 10 hours of basketball. No, this is hanging around, playing NHL ’94 and building massive pit sauce through multiple shirts. Yah, multiple shirts are necessary. SMD and one shirt looks like you were hosed down riot-style.

When you have SMD, you can’t wear regular deodorant. You have to wear special, super anti-perspirant (sp? Spellcheck’s all WTF?). You have to wear Mitchum. Mitchum is a mix of fragrance and caulking of some kind (Now with no asbestos!). It’s made out of nuclear waste. Do not taunt Mitchum deodorant. So, you wear Mitchum and then you notice it’s eating through your clothes. Yah, it leaves a yellow corrosive residue that should not be breathed by women who are pregnant, nursing, thinking of becoming pregnant, know somebody who’s pregnant or have ovaries. Quickly you realize you can’t allow your sweet OP t-shirts to rub directly against the biohazard underneath your arms. No, you need an undershirt to cushion the blow.

So you suffer with your Mitchum and your undershirt and you wait for the cure for SMD. What’s the cure? You have to give it to someone else. How do you accomplish that? I have no idea. It isn’t through direct contact (try as I might through seemingly innocuous headlocks of my friends), it’s transferred through some kind of telekinetic osmosis. As inexplicably as it came, it went. You’d be so happy and dry! And then you’d notice one of your buddies start to look a little misty, fanning himself – ZING – SMD got ‘em again!

So you can see that even though I no longer suffer from SMD, going sans undershirt makes me a little anxious . . . a little nervous . . . a little warm . . . is that a bead of sweat forming on my armpit . . . .NOOO!

(The plusses to no undershirt are that I’m only one undone button away from a spectacular chest hair display (just ask theMonica).

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