The Odd World of Jimothy
Suffice to say it was a strange world indeed. Here, everything was just the same as your world, except maybe one thing in particular. One such thing that could not be ignored, for it was so peculiar, the entire world becomes odd to us who see from stranger eyes. This one thing was capable of making a fool out of many people, and irreparably scorned by everyone else, to make one outlandish, to seem idiotic, imbecillic, and downright morronic. Yes, it was such a thing that could fell immortal men, and destroy the beauty of majestic ladies, for it was something that brought aught to the playing field that was love and sex, and all politics that surrounded it. It made a man, and woman. It made a grown sop out of them all. And one could do whatever it is they wanted with it, but they could not undo it ever again, under no circumstances whatsoever. And if a mistake was made, it could be the end for one's social life forever, or at least a far more than more than bitter twist and turn of fate.
The subject of our amusement is none other than Jimothy, the son of the esteemed Tim and Jim, two loveable and agreeable men of mediocre stature. Jimothy, also known as Mothy, was about to make the most ridiculous and pathetic mistake of his time. In fact, it outshined many other overwhelmingly stupid mistakes people had made in the past, amongst which we could name the man from the next town over who decided he would cut loose from entangled power lines with his metal scissors; or the bloke who might as well have killed himself after crashing into a post, sleding, from where he had torn the protective foam, to sled on; came close to the man who decided he wanted a cigarette after he had doused himself in gasoline from a ruptured pump; but I dare say there may be an odd tie with the entire nation that voted a bufoon who did not keep his promises, laughed in the face of his citizens when the economy crashed worse than in the past twenty years, and mocked the people who died of a disease he did not want to acknowledge as deadly, decided, out of pure obstinance, to vote for him again.
Jimothy, of course, was a young fellow, now in his late teen years, and he enjoyed doing everything himself, doing basically anything, he should hire someone else to do for him, with the help of Youtube. And Jimothy was successful in many of his ventures, though none of his accomplishments seemed to last, and many times did he find himself on the odd end of an even disaster, which he did not take into account as being the result of relying on anything but his own feeble brain capacity. But Jimothy was not like anyone else his age, or of his generation for that matter. He spent most of his time online, seeing vague and also made up videos of what were intended to be visualized as real. And when Jimothy wanted to meet someone, he did it online first. And when Mothy spoke, he ended every nine out of ten phrases with the acronym ‘lol’ whenever he wanted to make it seem like he wasn't really saying what he actually was. For instance, he could say, “I think you're hot lol,” which actually meant it wasn't really a concrete thing to be grasped in the first place, so if it wasn't taken well, it should just be laughed at. It literally stood for ‘laugh out loud’ but no one who ever wrote it those days actually even used it for the purpose of expressing an actual aural laugh. Nobody really cared for the power of that word, but everyone respected it. Not only was he incapable of holding an honest conversation without dismissing it with a ‘lol’, Jimothy was known to hate older generations without an actual cause, or as he might say it, “I hate adults lol”, and he also had a ferverous spite towards anyone who did not think in a certain way, which was the highest form of acceptable fascism in society that we could find those days, and it was known as being ‘politically correct’, even though he did not know who he was defending, but he certainly did not want to be targeted by the angry mob that actually carried out their death sentences when someone did not think as they did, or were not politically correct.
What made this world so odd and special was how at a certain age, people would naturally grow out their pubes, but their pubes would, in turn, naturally grow out to look like Charles Darwin just stepped out of a wormhole, confused, and perhaps a bit angry that he ended up in a world that just accepted his theories as truth without testing them scientifically or empirically. The odd thing about the pubes, however, was not their uncomely appearance, but how they only grew out one time, and when they were cut, if they were cut, they would not grow back again, no matter what procedure could be thought of, no matter what tonic invented.
What happened to Jimothy is that, not being so bright, and even in spite of this quality of his, he found himself with a date set for the day after the one he was experiencing, or from his point of view, tomorrow. So tomorrow was the day of Mothy's big date, and his pubes still looked like Tony Ramos compact onto the groin. The problem Jimothy had was that he had great doubt of how he wanted his pubes to look for the rest of his life. Pubes were a sign of adulthood, but also, when well kept, and well fashioned, it could be a great monolith of power, a beacon that shone across all the land, that sent the precise message that this was no ordinary fellow walking the face of this Earth. No, it was someone with distinguished taste, with extraordinary palate, and a fine sense of style. Jimothy wanted, beyond all reason, to boast that he was not an ordinary man, whatever that was supposed to mean when considering Jimothy's tendency to emasculate himself before the ever growing outlandish demands of women who did not clearly understand the idea of equality, and wanted to be treated, in reality, like men. Men, of course, like Jimothy, were being pressured into having the most fantastic, robust, thick, luscious, and strong pubes that could ever be found elsewhere, and this was Jimothy's predicament. If his pubes did not look like they belonged on gods themselves, he might as well consider himself the powerless woman those other femmes are so vehemently protesting.
He wanted a powerful look, and it was known, not uncommon, for young men to only cut off the very tips of their pubes so that they wouldn't seem so vilely untamed and wild with wanton spires of outstanding hairs. So Jimothy set out to do it himself. He grabbed the scissors his mother used often to cut pizzas and scallions with, and took to his own pubes, considering himself the very Michelangelo of trimming pubes, with confidence, and panashe, and cut his first trim in the center. Everything was looking fine so far, until he cut again. A little further to the right - nothing altogether so wrong, but it was starting to look uneven, so he went in to the far left, and since the pubes looked just as long as the rest, he plucked them to a balanced tension, and sliced off a wad of hair, that with his utter satisfaction, came off in fantastic form. When Jimothy, god bless this kid, looked in the mirror, he had realized one thing. And that one thing was something he would realize for the next possible eighty years of his long and soon to be, lonely life. He had made a mistake in his measurement, and so made a mistake that might have cost him a good sum of money to repair, or his manhood altogether. He had cut too deep when he pulled on his hairs to the left, having actually made a cut towards the center, that would ruin potentially hundreds of styles of pubes he could select from had he not decided to cut them himself.
When Jimothy went on his date, and things, miraculously, perhaps even benefited from stupidity, escalated to the act of consensual relations, Jimothy's date would see him naked, and say: “Nice pubes lol” - never to be heard of again.
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