PURE LARD: THE PITS

Damn. I was hoping Wayne would write some curt, funny, drunken intro for my column of rambling crap, Pure Lard. But he done told me to do it. So,.. uh,.. Pure Lard's been around since 1997. But now that it's in tastes like chicken, maybe people will read it. And, hopefully, make love to it!
Arrrgh!!! Pit stains!!! Damn, dude.
Yeah, they've become a problem. Used to be, I just needed deo for my B.O.; anti-perspirant was not necessary. Just a wipe under each pit for some good smellin', and I was off to the junior high dance to sit in the corner; smellin' fine, but gettin' no love from the ladies. I'm wandering off track,.. my pits. They used to be naturally dry.
Now, hell, even as I type this, my pits are soaking. The rest of me isn't hot-- just my pits. It's a goddamn mess, is what it is.
When I was a young (but large) pup, I'd sometimes have to borrow my dad's undershirts; these were troubling times. The pits on those bastards would be, at best, stained yellow. At worst, they'd be stiff. Hard even. Like the damn molecular structure of the t-shirt's pits had been altered by my dad's combo of sweat and deo. I thought my dad was disgusting. And I was fookin' right.
But now, so am I. Disgusting, I mean.
I've tried different kinds of anti-perspirants. Right now, I'm sporting Arrid Extra Extra Dry. EXTRA. EXTRA. DRY. ARRID. That means "dry". (With an extra "r", sure. But let's assume the definition is the same.) Like a desert, my arms should be. And yet,.. yep. My shirt is wet. Under both arms. I even wore a t-shirt to combat the pit stains, but to no avail. The sweat has gone through my undershirt, all the way to my "over" shirt, which is light blue. Except in the armpits. There, it's dark blue. Is problem, yes? That's when a "thing" becomes an "issue" for me. When others can see.
I'm not even DOING anything. I just sit on my fat ass all day long. It's not hot in the office. But my pits are sweating.
I find myself wondering if this is just a part of growing up. Except that, post-puberty I didn't have this problem. It's fairly recent. It's not a body hair, pimples, voice changing, and pubic curlies thing. I'd been out of that puberty racket for a while before this schweaty pit shit started. No,.. this is,.. something entirely,.. different.
Could it be that I've been gaining weight at an alarming rate since the mid-Nineties? Now, all that extra fat is catching up with me? No. I know fatter people who don't sweat like this.
I decided to pray to God to see if He could help me; one of His children, as we all are, here on Earth. Here is my prayer:
"Hiya God. D.J. here. Yeah, so, uh, still working on that filmmaker thing, huh? Right.
Anyway, I gots a new one for Ya': my pits. You probably already know about this, because You know everything. They're a little too sweaty for my tastes. Could You dry 'em up?
Oh, and, since I got Your ear here, everything on me is big: my nose, ears, chin, feet; hell-- I mean, heck-- all of me but one thing. What up? Could You fix that? Just want everything to go together, dig? Proportions and whatnot.
So, uh,.. thanks.
Oh-- Amen."
Here is his response:
(NOTHING)
Yep. No talkin' anymore. It seemed to happen in the Bible all the time, but not, it seems, in real life. Be that as it may, actions speak louder than words. To wit:
1. No movie deals.
Two: My pits are still sweaty, and my shirt still stained.
C. I ain't no bigger where I want to be.
What up? In trying to get some holy help with my sweaty pits problem, I've opened a whole other can of worms: I've been forsaken.
That's what this is really all about.
Fuck. It's depressing.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go towel off my armpits.
VISIT D.J. AT PURELARD.NET.