Are you tired, like us, of bathing with aromas? Is the next bar of virgin olive oil with oatmeal and lavender notes going to put your fist through the shower glass? We know the story: little lady goes shopping, then sneaks a small rectangular box onto your shelf in another subtle ploy to shrink your gonads. Wrap it up for Aunt Olive’s Christmas visit.
If you’re looking for something hard-milled, Bullet Soap is for you. Borax, naphtha, raw lye, real salt from Bonneville--it’s all in there, along with special abrasives made from spent grenade fragments. But Bullet Soap is more than cowboy cleanliness. It’s a whole masculinity system for reeling in those ladies who truly appreciate the Y chromosome. We understand women, so you don’t have to.
All women liked horses when they were girls. Men are smart, and when they figure out the connection, many conclude that to attract women, men should smell like horses. Wrong. If you want a woman to like you, you must be a horse, and this is forbidden by the recently enacted limits on stem-cell cloning, although high-ranking government officials have pushed through an exception that allows them to change into certain portions of a horse. The rest of us will never be liked by women, so we must learn to use the force of our personalities to induce women to tolerate our presence despite their perpetual and universal distaste for us. The answer is strength of personality.
Everyone knows that women prefer “bad boys.” For example, one of the easiest ways to get a date is to find an excuse to accompany a young lady on a walk through a residential neighborhood and suddenly throw a baseball through a randomly chosen living-room window. This impetuous act attracts the fair sex in three ways at once: (1) it places you in that special category of “naughty male”; (2) it adds an air of mystery to your persona, which you shouldn’t spoil by revealing any motive or reasoning behind your act; (3) it shows the strength of your arm. If you’re incapable of breaking a window in this way, pay an acquaintance to hide in a bush and break the window for you -- preferably a poet with a very long nose.
This is not to say that you should smell “bad.” We know how you should smell, so if you’re like most men and can’t tell steak from salmon except one’s squishy and toenail-polish-colored, buy Bullet Soap. Both animals and plants were destroyed with reckless abandon in making this soap, especially civets. The pheromone of the civet cat is one of those smells that women can’t resist. In February of 2000 a highly diluted essence of the civet gland was sprayed into a theater where “Notting Hill” was about to be shown. Unable to find a male within the theater proper, six hundred women left their seats and serially attacked the male projectionist, who later that week invented the oxygen bar.