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Geoff Brischke Reviews: Feminine Products

Geoff Brischke



WARNING: This article is intended for consumption by the male mind only. If you are female and you continue to read, I accept no responsibility if you become shocked, appalled, disgusted or offended. I make no apologies for my complete lack of maturity; in fact, I fucking celebrate it.
I didn’t have a whole lot to do last Sunday, so I thought, “What the fuck, I’ll go down to the supermarket and buy a whole armful of feminine products and review them.” I don’t spend too much time down the ladies’ aisle in the store, and now I know why. Who in their right mind would pay the exorbitant prices they charge for everything? I had to choose between forty-seven different kinds of moisturiser. I also got some pretty strange looks from the cashier when I dumped my entire basket of tampons, sanitary pads, vaginal condoms, waxing kits and beauty masks on the conveyor belt in front of her. In addition, my girlfriend wasn’t very amused when I brought all this shit home and explained what I was doing; she was even less amused when I stuffed two tampons up my nostrils and fired ’em at her. Nobody understands me.
Beauty Mask: What a crock of shit this thing was. I spent fifteen minutes in front of the mirror while this goop dried on my face and left me looking like some sort of an albino leper. The packaging of the Pampering Honey Mask® promised that my skin would be “intensely nourished and left feeling smooth, supple and relaxed,” but I just felt like I had been done on all fronts by Nivea for four dollars. I dunno, maybe my skin is just far too manly; or maybe the entire beauty industry is a big giant lie… or maybe I should’ve left it on for sixteen minutes.
Marzena ™ Roll-On Waxing Kit: Mel Gibson is a pussy. Remember that scene in The Passion of the Catholic Director where he waxes his leg and then runs around shrieking like a car alarm when he pulls the wax strip off? This thing didn’t hurt at all; it felt like a light slap on the leg. However, I have since been told by the Editress (and cartoonist Robbie Neilson, go figure) that it really depends on where you wax – the crotch area being much more sensitive than the lower thigh. But there is no way that that is going to happen, I already have to walk around for the next six weeks with a pale, hairless patch on my right leg – I’m not waxing anything else. Who am I, the fucking Jonas Salk of Salient?
Sanitary Pads: I think these had to be the least threatening of all the feminine products that I reviewed. They were also really uncomfortable to wear. In the interest of pure scientific curiosity I decided that I needed to give the sanitary pad a good experimental run. I had bought a package of pads with all the bells and whistles and adhesive strips and flow-containing wings, so I thought they would stay securely in place while I walked down to StarMart to get a pack of smokes. The entire plan backfired when I was stopped by a friend on the footpath and my sanitary pad dislodged, migrated down my leg, and peeked out of the bottom of my trousers. It was a very tough thing to have to explain: “That? That’s, uh . . . that’s my sanitary pad.” I’m now using them strictly as beer-bottle-insulators; the adhesive strip makes for a snug fit and the super-absorbent padding keeps the beer ice-cold.
Tampons: I chose my tampons in the same way I choose every consumer product that I purchase – based solely on the aesthetics of the packaging. Libra produces a line of tampons (portable ones, they come in what appear to be some sort of pregnant cigarette box) that included a set in an angular, jet black box – a real man’s tampon. I also picked up a version of the tampon that came with its own applicator. These things are absolutely fascinating. I mean, who knew? The thing looks like a torpedo and, apparently, operates like one as well. I wasn’t sure that I really wanted to know how these things work, but my box of applicator tampons came with a set of full-colour instructions on proper insertion, and I certainly found out. Shudder. I wasn’t testing these things out, however – no way. But I couldn’t find anything to do with the twenty-six tampons that I had scattered around the floor of my flat so I ended up constructing a tampon wind chime with the help of a coat hanger. It didn’t work.
Vaginal Condom: WHOOOOOOOOOOOOAAAAAA!!! This thing looks like a latex tube-sock. It was terrifying. I pulled it out of the box and it unrolled and I screamed and flung it across the room, where it stuck against the kitchen wall. Terrifying.
Man, that’s a whole lotta effort for minimal reward. I hope you’re happy. I’m going back to my soap and deodorant. If I was a woman, I’d be hairy and smelly, just like I am right now.