WAX ON, WAX OFF

Over the past few years, I've had countless arguments with friends and family about why the Middle East hates us so much. They say it's because of our freedoms and way of life. I say it's because we keep interfering in their affairs. And killing them.
At least, I used to say that.
Because after reading a recent article in Newsweek, I'm starting to see their point. Not my friends' point, mind you. The "camel jockeys'" point, to quote our fearless leader. So much so, in fact, I'm ready to stop bathing, hijack a plane, and fly it straight into the nearest suburban mall all by my lonesome.
So, you're probably asking yourself, what heinous crime against humanity has America committed that could possibly make me, Yahweh, ready to declare my own personal jihad against the so-called great Satan?
Ball waxing.
That's right. Ball waxing.
According to Newsweek, upwardly mobile men in several major metro areas-- New York, Los Angeles, Atlanta, and Washington, D.C.-- are paying up to $100 for bikini waxes that take it all-- and I mean all-- off.
We're talking Brazilians for the boys, people. And by the "boys", I mean your boys.
For those of you who think that may be a typo, that red-blooded heterosexual American males couldn't possibly be contemplating shaving their balls, let alone waxing them, let me assure you, it's true.
In fact, just a quick Google search is all it took to learn more than I ever needed to know about the subject. And believe me, despite the waxers' claims to the contrary, this procedure is even more painful than it sounds.
Sure, it starts out promisingly enough: soft music, aromatherapy candles, a total stranger lovingly spreading hot wax all over your nether regions. Even the next step has an erotic flair, as they apply a strip of soft cloth to the wax, pressing gently, yet firmly, so the wax, hair, and cloth adhere to one another.
So far, so good. Right?
Well, don't get used to it. Because once the wax has cooled, your waxer lets 'er rip, suddenly yanking the cloth upward, in the opposite direction of your hair growth, tearing every hair out by its roots.
That's every ball hair, ripped out in one rapid, excruciating, clean jerk.
Personally, I want to know what these ball waxees do for a living. I mean, do you know anyone who has so much extra money lying around that they have nothing better to do with it than pay someone $100 every two weeks to manually prune the family jewels?
Put another way, is America so rich that, instead of working to make the world a better place, we'd rather plunk down $100 to wax our balls?
What would Mother Teresa say?
More importantly, what would your mother say?
Look, if you're having that much trouble finding things to spend your money on, why not just pay someone to slam your fingers in a car door a few times? At least that's not going to make Newsweek. Better yet, why not do the socially responsible thing and offer a complete stranger, say, someone who writes for tastes like chicken perhaps, $100 to put a bullet in your head? That would make me-- I mean someone-- a few bucks richer, and empty the gene pool of a few shallow pretty boys.
And this time when I say "boys", I mean dumbasses.
Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a plane to catch.
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