Written by Jehu
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Thursday, 15 September 2005

image for Bring Me a 5-Bladed Razor, Lest I Perish Beardos the world over rejoice

In most areas of life, I count myself a lucky man. I have a good job, a nice family, a peaceful home and, for the time being, no woman around to bother me. Each year when holidays come around and people start peppering me with questions about what I want, I’m usually forced to admit that I have just about every creature comfort that a man can buy. Electronics, books, aged scotch in a fine cut crystal tumbler – yes sir, life is good. But there was always something missing, one part of my daily routine which I knew deep down could be fundamentally improved somehow, if only I could put my finger on just what I needed. This morning I picked up the paper and it hit me like a bolt from the blue, the answer to all my problems. Ladies and gentlemen, I need two more blades on my razor.

That’s right, you heard me. I need the new Fusion® razor from Gillette. I think five blades will really do the trick. That’s right, the three blades I have right now are just not cutting it, literally. I’m like a werewolf, folks, with huge thick tufts of facial hair the strength and texture of steel wool. When I lather up and draw that powerful Mach3 vibrating head down my cheek, the first blade just crumples like a girl scout who’s been punched in the stomach. The second blade does a lot of the grunt work, and by the time it’s done I only look like Robin Williams. The third blade, which on most guys takes off everything else, including the first 2-micron layer of skin, barely makes me presentable to go out in public. I feel absolutely certain that if I only had two more blades, I could get any chick I wanted, and be better at beach volleyball and car racing. I need this thing, and money (not just mine; a $100 million marketing campaign, in fact) says there are other men who need one, too.

Not only that, the bloody thing had better vibrate. The razor I have now vibrates, and I’ll be damned if I’m going back to a static, non-battery-powered razor like some third-world savage. I don’t percolate my coffee, I don’t send telegraphs, and I don’t shave with anything that doesn’t include a microchip to control blade oscillation frequency. Seriously, it’s the 21st century, here. But if it vibrates, it needs power. So I guess it’s a good thing Gillette teamed up with Duracell, giving me the added convenience of getting my battery power from the same folks. Now if they would just get off their asses and buy up a toothbrush company and a toilet paper manufacturer, I could take care of my entire morning routine with a single handheld device.

Come to that, I have a few other improvement ideas for the scientists working on this thing. Nice as it is, it’s just too small. Even with five blades, it’s still going to take me at least six or seven strokes to get my whole face. What about a mask, custom shaped to the bottom half of my face that I just put on and draw down half an inch. Quick, easy, done. Or what about a team of nano-machines that shave my neck smooth and trim my goatee to within a six-sigma tolerance? Well, that might be a little over the top, actually, and I suppose if the people at Gillette managed to keep themselves from crossing the line into ridiculousness, I can too.

Yep, I have a feeling this thing is going to change my life. I don’t mind paying more than three bucks a cartridge; it’s more than worth it. And I guess there is a lot of steel going to make these things. Five blades is the answer, at least for another year or two. I plan on buying one as soon as they hit the shelves, and I predict I’ll be quite happy with it, until right around the time the R&D and marketing blitz get paid off. Oh, sure, the quality is bound to decline over time, but at least I know that when it reaches unacceptable levels, the good men and women at Gillette – who are only looking out for me, after all – will come around and tell me about it, and I’ll wonder how I ever used a razor without a strip of anti-wrinkle cream for my upper lip. If you ever needed proof that mankind can do absolutely anything, look no further.

The story above is a satire or parody. It is entirely fictitious.

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