JanuHairy

So you heard of Januhairy? I'm looking for sponsors.

Asked Spunk-Trumpet, one of the Project Managers in my department.

I looked up at him, standing before me, absentmindedly stroking his own biceps.

Have I heard of January? Of course I have, it's the name of the month.

I said in genuine puzzlement.

Spunk-Trumpet laughed and slapped one of his bulging thighs at my stupidity.

No. I said, Janu- hairy... Heard of it?

Erm, no? It sounds stupid though?

Spunk-Trumpet, waved a hand dismissively.

No no, not stupid, I'm doing it in fact. It's a great thing for charity.

He waved a sponsor sheet in his hand at me.

Ah, charity. Right, well, go on. What is it then?

You will love this! So, for the whole month of January, I'm not shaving. Just going hairy. Get it? Janu-HAIRY

He beamed at me like a demented muscular spaniel.

I shook my head, I didn't really get it.

So, like, you're growing a beard?

I ventured.

I didn't see what was so fucking special about that. I grew a beard before Christmas and didn't go around asking for sponsors.

He stopped smiling and fixed me with an intense gaze that had the air of something that he had practiced in the mirror a lot.

No. Well, yes. Not just my beard though. I am not shaving... anything...

He winked and undulated his body in a strange way.

You mean you are going to grow your armpit hair?

I sneered as if we had both laid eggs and his was all covered in feathers and shit and mine was clean and shiny.

Yeah, like that but everything. Armpits, chest, balls. You name it. Even my arse.

He said with a terrifying nonchalance.

Balls?

I tried to speak but the words choked in my throat

Arse!?!!

Who shaves their arse? I mean come on. Pretty much every bloke gives his silk purse a run in with a razor at some point in their lives. But your arse?! Eeww.

I fervently hoped he threw the razor away afterward.

I tried to speak again but couldn't quite displace the horrifying image of a man with a foot up on the bathroom sink scraping away at his arse with a razor.

I motioned for him to pass me his sponsor sheet and started to fill it in.

In the absence of the ability to speak, I started making a quiet clicking noise under my breath that could only be heard by cock-monkeys.

What's that noise?

Said Spunk-Trumpet.

I shook my head. So not only was he a cock-monkey but an arse-shaving cock-monkey.

It seemed like their is no end to the madness of the 21st century.