03-06-2021, 03:11 PM
#1
  • Mel S Meles
  • On the edge, ouch
  • 44.4899° south of the North Pole
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Allow me to introduce myselgf. I AM PAUL BUNYAN (within this thread only), despite the username attached to this post. My companion beside me is Babe, the Most Clean-Shaven Blue Ox on Earth, and, probably, in history. You can look up Paul Bunyan on the Web, if the concept is unfamiliar to you.

For reasons imminently set forth below, I request that the first line of every post in this thread state that the person who is posting is Paul Bunyan, as I have done in all caps above.

We are almost one-third of the way through the month of March as I post this, and three and one half weeks short of April 1.

And we all know what April 1 is (apart from being one of the twelve days in the year when it is mandatory to start the day uttering the words, “rabbit, rabbit”; but you knew that already. (You can also look up rabbit, rabbit on the Web.)

Within the bounds of our shaving hobby, there is abundant fodder for satire, parody, farrago, and other similar humor. What I propose here is a no-prize contest for submissions on, or as close to, April 1 as practicable that spoof some aspect of the practice of shaving that we all participate in regularly or irregularly and sometimes ritually. I ask that each post begin with the declaration that the person posting is Paul Bunyan, to advise the reader — and also to remind the person who is posting — that the post is not to be taken seriously. NB: the usual depictions of Paul Bunyan show him with a rich and full beard.

Minimal rules:

Keep it topical. All of the fun should relate to shaving. “Topical” need not be limited to objective reality; phantasmagorical creations are welcome.

No post may be hurtful or specifically critical of an identifiable real human being, whether or not the human being is or has been a participant in Shavenook. Keep your back-stabbing knives sheathed. Broad spoofs of groups are o.k., but keep the humor light and civil.

Do not flood the thread; if you have two fantastic concepts, post one this year, and save the second for 2022; post the better one first and spend the time between now and next year refining and sharpening your second post. If the Mods would cooperate, maybe (starting 2022) the thread could be locked each year until, say, 12:01 a.m. GMT March 31, and after 11:59 p.m. GMT April 2, so that everyone could start planning for the following year's open period.

Within reason, images and music may be attached to posts, as long as their posting does not infringe copyrights or burden bandwidth.

End of rules.

Be funny.

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 03-07-2021, 10:43 AM
#2
  • chazt
  • Super Moderator
  • Queens, NY
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.....

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 03-09-2021, 08:41 PM
#3
  • Mel S Meles
  • On the edge, ouch
  • 44.4899° south of the North Pole
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(03-07-2021, 10:43 AM)chazt Wrote: .....

Wow.  Five dots.  I think that that is the highest grade you ever have awarded to one of my posts.  

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 03-10-2021, 06:25 AM
#4
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(03-06-2021, 03:11 PM)Mel S Meles Wrote: Do not flood the thread

TSN is off to a very strong start in the following of that rule, at least.

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 03-10-2021, 01:18 PM
#5
  • chazt
  • Super Moderator
  • Queens, NY
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(03-09-2021, 08:41 PM)Mel S Meles Wrote:
(03-07-2021, 10:43 AM)chazt Wrote: .....

Wow.  Five dots.  I think that that is the highest grade you ever have awarded to one of my posts.  

It was five dots worthy.

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 03-22-2021, 12:32 PM
#6
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Checking in on this. Everyone readying their posts?

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 03-22-2021, 06:34 PM
#7
  • Mel S Meles
  • On the edge, ouch
  • 44.4899° south of the North Pole
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(03-22-2021, 12:32 PM)NickFists Wrote: Checking in on this. Everyone readying their posts?

One week (plus or minus) to go!

I am glad that you are in. I really hope that we get broad participation. Those who have not yet done so, get out your strop and start honing your wit!

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 03-28-2021, 10:04 AM
#8
  • 2Chops
  • Senior Member
  • North Central PA
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Hone, hone, hone...

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 04-01-2021, 03:08 PM
#9
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I am Babe the blue ox. I am looking for Paul Bunyan, has anyone seen him?

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 04-01-2021, 06:55 PM
#10
  • chazt
  • Super Moderator
  • Queens, NY
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Allow me to introduce myself. I AM PAUL BUNYON. 

Been told more than once I’m a bit of a character. Maybe a little. Maybe not. Maybe. You’ll decide on your own. Be the Decider-in-Chief. Been asked by the folks here to relate a tale in honor of everyone’s favorite fool on the hill, April. Ah... fair Aphrodite, ancient goddess of P.T.A Plant Sales; April, the fair seasonal equivalent of October to our friends down under. April may, but she’ll never tell.

There was a time before my hirsute visage became de rigueur, indeed, the de facto look for many of today’s fashionably just-so modern men. I feel somewhat responsible for this. Not that I feel badly, mind you; just somewhat responsible. When I was just a little shaver (says I wif a glottal stop, akin to those who speak scousely as it were - fink the Geico gecko, mate), I needed a daily shave by the time I was 9. What can I say? I come from a long line of excessive follicularity. Everyone in my family shaved. Pops, my brothers and sisters, even Mama enjoyed a little pogonotomy every now and then. I’m one of those guys who sports a 5:00 shadow by 10:45. In the morning. 

I’ve also always been quite enamored with hitting baseballs. You see, Abner DD was my third cousin by marriage, twice removed, on my mom’s dad’s mom’s side of the family. Salt of the earth. They made their home just northwest of what later became known as Beaver Creek State Forest, about halfway between Albany and Lake Ontario.  Abner’s great-great granddaddy (a heckuva fine athalete, you should know), later relocated his brood and worked a parcel of land just outside Cooperstown. Old man Doubleday was always looking for a way to keep his family of twenty busy when they weren’t otherwise occupied. He engaged ‘em in all kinds of competitions of strength and endurance. Legend has it, the rudimentary shape of the field of play and some basic rules came to him while he slept; a diamond surrounded by an emerald. People running counterclockwise. Others throwing, hitting, chasing and catching little balls of white... there you have it, a great pastime unfolded! So you see, I have baseballs in my blood. Seriously. The doctors have told me that under extreme magnification with an electron microscope, my white blood cells resemble little tiny baseballs, complete with red stitching.

Some time ago, in a place not too far away, Babe and I set up the ol’ pitching machine and set about whacking some horsehide. It was a partly cloudy day. Babe likes “partly sunny,” but to me that implies that it’s usually not sunny. If you say it’s partly cloudy, to my thinking, that implies that it’s usually sunny, and the clouds are intruding, so to speak. That whole negativity thing isn’t my schtick. I’m a glass half full kind of guy. Johnny Appleseed, on the other hand, now there’s a Debbie Downer for you. Ugh, don’t ask. Just keep that guy away from me please. Sorry, back to the park... I hit ‘em, Babe fetched ‘em and fed ‘em back into the hopper for another round. After a few hours with my favorite Louisville Slugger, the line of trees beyond our field was cleared by the steady stream of clothesline, laser-like line drives. 

Mind you, I am after all, a lumberjack by trade. And whoever said axe work was the only sure fire method for tree removal? Hmm? I built many of the iconic major and minor league baseball stadia that dot the countryside all across this great land. I also spent some time up in the Great White North, clearing land for the railroad companies. Where do you think they got their ties from, Macy’s? And roller coasters. Yes, that’s right, roller coasters. I’d clear the land for the developers, next thing you knew there’d be a big ol’ wooden roller coaster made with lumber from the trees I provided. You might say I was a jack of all trades.

Anywho, unbeknownst to me at the time a genuine baseball scout was watching (I was hitting baseballs, remember?). Apparently he lived in the neighborhood. Just one of many legendary and colorful characters who have taken lodgings in these parts. Well, once he’d seen enough after being in the shadows - sounds creepy, I know, but it was a partly cloudy day - he came forward and innerduced himself. Bubba Grimes. Bubba was a baseball lifer, but on the fringe. His renown was not too well known to most. Bubba was the illegitimate half brother of Burleigh Grimes. Ol’ Stubblebeard, as he was known, due to his predilection for not shaving on days when he took the mound, was the last player in the game permitted to throw a spitter despite it being banned like a rusty hypodermic laced with a cocktail of HGH and PEDs. So, Bubba comes walking on over and after a brief exchange about the weather, says to me, “Kid, you sure can hit ‘em, but how are you on the basepath? Can you run, Kid? Can you?” I said running just wasn’t my thing; my schtick; my bag. “I got bad knees. I DH,” I said. But he said, “Oh, come on. Lemme see you run, Kid.” Then he kind of sneered and turned away. I thought I heard him mutter something unkind under his breath, but this is a family forum, so I’ll be bigger than Bubba was. But he sure did know how to motivate!

So, when Babe finished loading the hopper I gave her the sign to fire up the mechanical appendage, and boy did that feisty heifer let it rip! She cranked the speed up to 95 mph. “100!” I called out. “No! Too much!” was Babe’s retort. “Give me a hundred!,” I bellowed in my best Peter Townsend. Reluctantly, Babe made the necessary adjustments. I took a few pitches just to assess current wind and shadow conditions, then exhorted her to, “Kick it up another 25%.” With that, ol’ Bubba stopped dead in his tracks, turned around and stared. I pulled my hat down and glared at my mechanical hurler. The metal arm of the pitching machine whipped around and released it’s projectile. The leather encased spheroid hurtled my way at 125 mile per hour. Strangely, in that moment, time slowed down. The dust on the end of the arm splattered outward in a slow motion effect, the clank of metal on metal as the arm came to rest sounded like a dull, low frequency thud. The rotation of the ball slowed by a thousandth. I focused on that damn ball so damn hard. “I’ll show that Bubba Grimes!” Some old baseballers’ll tell you to keep your eyes on the stitching. I saw the stitching. Just ask Sam Williams’ boy. He’ll tell you.

The ball hurtled closer. 125 miles an hour! In an instant time caught up with my perceived understanding of time and space. Neurons fired, muscles contracted. I swang that piece of lumber about as hard as I ever did swang anythang. Harder even! With a crack the ball changed direction and flew like a motherboard to the north northeastern part of the freshly cleared landscape. The radar gun clocked the exit velocity at 156.3 mph. “Run, Kid!” Bubba Grimes’ voice pierced the serene beauty of the moment when bat and ball collide. “Run!”

So, I ran. My knees were not happy, but I ran! When I rounded first, Bubba called out, “Go for two, Kid! Go for two!” I felt something pop. I heard it pop! Bubba wouldn’t let up. “Run, Kid! Run!” Like my old friend  Emilio Littela was heard to say more than once, I thought I was gonna die. Second base was almost there. And again, Bubba was in my head. “Slide, Kid! Slide!” I couldn’t. My knees! I have bad knees! There he was again. “SLIDE!” Well... I did. Dove right in to the bag. Head first.

I opened my eyes just as the dust cleared. Both legs seemed to work. But there was blood everywhere. Turns out the upholstery nails in the second base bag poked through and tore up my Hollywood face pretty bad. When the bandages and stitches in my face were removed the scarring was extensive The doctors said I probably shouldn’t shave anymore. They said Abe Lincoln grew a beard for that very reason. It wasn’t no knife fight, Abe took a bad slide into second base. Well, from that day on I never shaved again. It’s worked out ok I guess. Women want to be with me, and men want to be me.

I AM PAUL BUNYON.

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 04-02-2021, 03:08 AM
#11
  • Mel S Meles
  • On the edge, ouch
  • 44.4899° south of the North Pole
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I AM PAUL BUNION.  (Although I was christened PAUL BUNYAN, my parents changed the spelling of the family name after emigrating from the Old Country.)

In college, I majored in Botany, and was always curious ー fascinated might be a better word; obsessed might be better still ー by the 1930s discovery in the mid-Amazon basin of a flowering plant, which the adventurous explorer who discovered it gave the name Butoxa infantiflora because its blossoms, comprising two pink equal-size globular petals, cheek-by-jowl, as it were, resembled a baby's tush.  Unlike the remarkable Wompom/*, however, there appeared to be no commercial, indeed, no utilitarian, market for any part of the Butoxa infantiflora plant, and — except for Pearl type footnotes in musty graduate-level Botany texts — the discovery went largely ignored.

/*
(“You can shave with the rind of a Wompom”)

UNTIL NOW.

My recently formed company, Warm Creek Saponifiers, proudly announces immediate availability of our première and premier offering:  Baby Butt Shaving Soap.

Embodying years and years of painstaking research and development, I, Paul Bunion, discovered that the obvious application for Butoxa infantiflora was right under our noses, so to speak.  Butoxa infantiflora, so far as we can determine, is the only plant in the world that has DNA identical to a species in the animal kingdom — and that species is a newborn human offspring.  Surprised by tht discovery, and armed with that knowledge, I engaged in a multi-year development program to produce the first shaving soap that truly will give the discerning man a Baby-Butt-Smooth (BBS) shave because it contains actual Baby Butt DNA.   Initially, we offer it in two distinctive scents, Eau de Merde, a traditional but unique “wet earth” interpretation based upon scents in the natural world with a special tangy accord, and Yer Ein (rough translation:  “you are the one”) with an ammonia base and a Yellow Accord; an upscale two-tone Accord will follow; we are aiming for a fall release.

Please note:  as an environmentally woke and conscientiously humane CEO of a pristine and pure company that makes a SOAP product — what could be cleaner than that? — we assure you that NO BABIES ARE HARMED in the making of our Baby Butt Shaving Soap containing genuine baby butt DNA.

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 04-02-2021, 03:31 AM
#12
  • chazt
  • Super Moderator
  • Queens, NY
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Yer Ein US made BBS shave soap.

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 04-02-2021, 09:02 AM
#13
  • Mel S Meles
  • On the edge, ouch
  • 44.4899° south of the North Pole
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(04-02-2021, 03:31 AM)chazt Wrote: Yer Ein US made BBS shave soap.

And here I had thought that Yer ’Einess is the proper manner to address Queen Elizabeth II, the monarch of the United Kingdom of England, Scotland, and Wales.

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