Double pits to chesty, my fat Italian ass.
All that is going to do is make your upper torso smell like a diaper full of day-old curried chicken.
I know that all the hip, happening youngsters of today are using this AXE bodyspray; I've seen the advertisements:
Huge loser walks through highschool hallway, lamenting his lingering virginity and contemplating firing a revolver through his skull.
That Unilever carpet-bombed Europe with AXE after launching it in France in 1983? Are we really going to trust the friggin' French to decide what makes the human body smell good? The whole f--king country smells like socks in a gym bag.
And, while the dorky Mathlete chick --who's holding on to her freshman 20 like its a winning lottery ticket-- will gladly fap a pearlescent jizzbomb out of our huge loser, it is Mary-Jane ChlamydiaPants, the captain of the cheerleading squad, that will have nothing to do with him.
Suddenly, Asshead defiles his underarms with AXE, he is able to do stunts on a motorcycle that Evel Kinevel never thought of, and the hot, Selena Gomez look-a-like that sits behind him in chemistry class is hobbing his knob like there's an Old Navy gift card therein.
Well, here's the reality: I wouldn't buy AXE spray if it were part of a plea bargain; I'm 43, the chick ringing me up at Wal*Mart was born the year I got married, and I would look like any other fat old guy trying to be cool.
But, well, I did have a coupon for AXE bodywash, so I gave that a try.
Fast-forward to me in the shower; I blow an AXE soap load into my hand, and commence lathering. Immediately, I smell what convinces me that my wife left a diaper in the bathroom trashcan. Within seconds, however, I recognize that the sudsy substance now making my testicles all foamy is the offender.
I bring my hand up to my nose, and sniff: Soot and poo, pure and simple.
By that evening the 35-cents-off AXE is cooling its stinky heels at the bottom of an aluminum can at my curb.
Why hasn't AXE rounded up some puppy-mill castoffs and tested this crap on them? What must the f--king factory smell like? I want my god-damned money back, and to be compensated for the 50-cents-worth of my wife's FDS that I had to use so that my co-workers didn't think I sh-t myself on the drive in, and didn't have the common sense to trash my undies in a reststop bathroom.
F--k you, AXE.