Bizarro Post Mental Health Bureau- There's a hidden disease in America, a festering plague that knows no cultural or social boundaries. Few can believe that it is true and nobody is trying to stop it. Now the truth is coming to light in this Bizarro Post exclusive, where we have found a brave individual wanting to speak out about their addiction to Gold Bond medicated powder.
"It started legitimately. I was working outside on my driveway, and between the sweating and constant movement I developed chafing," said Dennis Reid, 34, an accountant from Huntsville, Alabama.
When used properly, Gold Bond is legendary for its ability to soothe the savaged loins. But when some people first feel the soothing arctic blast washing over their no-no places, once just isn't enough.
"At first I tried to find legitimate reasons to use it. I'd wear woolen long-johns to mow the lawn in the middle of summer. I cut up a pair of my jeans, took a square of denim, and rubbed the hell out of my upper thighs for hours," Reid admitted. "My friends thought I was jogging to loose weight. What they didn't know is that I had lined my boxers with sandpaper."
Once his skin was shredded and seeping, Reid could be found lying on the cool tiles of his bathroom floor, tripping on a massive hit of "Goldy-B" for hours at a time. Visitors would sometimes ask about the strange dust covering nearly every surface in the bathroom.
"I told them I had a cocaine addiction," Reid recounted. "The truth was just too terrible."
It wasn't long before the pretenses were dropped. When Dennis Reid woke up in the morning, he dusted up. When he felt a twinge of doubt or self-loathing, he powdered his donuts. Before he went to sleep at night, he frosted his mini-wheats. It all came to a head when Reid's then-girlfriend Jeanette found him lounging in a plastic child's pool full of Gold Bond. Word spread to his friends, who sprung into action with an intervention.
"I never would have guessed that the Den-man was into Bond-age," said long-time friend Hal Kasmire. "As soon as I found out, I knew I had to get involved. Whip him back into shape, you know?"
"At first I denied everything," said Reid, when asked about the intervention. "Then I just broke down. All the lies and shame crashed in on me."
"He throws himself at me," Kasmire said. "And he's just saying 'I'm dusting right now, man! I'm riding the Polar Express as we speak! I need a hug, bro!' So I gave him one. It felt so right, and I think he felt it too."
Three months of withdrawal made Reid's life into a nightmare. Jeanette left him immediately after the pool incident, and as much as Hal Kasmire wanted to be there for his best friend, work and family demanded his attention as well. And then came the symptoms of a body craving stimulation that only Satan's Sand could provide.
"I felt so swampy. I wasn't so fresh....down there," Reid recalled. But I powdere...powered through. Every time I thought about quitting, I thought about Jeanette. If I could just beat this, she would take me back."
She didn't, but that's beside the point. One morning just like any other, a man named Dennis Reid woke up to find that his junk wasn't cradled in the hands of angels, and that was just okay. The addiction had lost. Dennis had won.
"It's been a year since I kicked Gold Bond," said Reid, grimacing while working in his yard. "I'm doing a lot better, you know? My withdrawal alienated my friends, and my addiction cost me the love of my life. Even Hal doesn't return my texts much anymore. I spend most of my time on futile attempts to be content with my lot in life, and my thighs are just on fire right now. But at least I'm not addicted to something. That's....a plus, I guess. Big victory. I'm a...champion."
That you are, Dennis. That you are.
No comments:
Post a Comment