About 7 years ago, I was in peak physical condition. I was running 20+ miles a week and blazing through local charity races. I loved running.
My chief enemy was the stopwatch. My wartime goals were personal bests at various distances, and many a battle raged as I pushed my body to its limits of speed and endurance. I won some battles, lost even more. But I had fun.
One day, my enemy (time) engaged the services of an evil confederate: jock itch.
Bring on the shocking photo!!!
Suffice it to say that I suffered from this itching, chafing, smelly problem for a long time. I used over-the-counter remedies with abandon. They did nothing.
I read up all I could about the problem. I started showering twice a day, thoroughly drying the area and applying Miconazole or Tolnaftate. The problem would subside, but if I skipped showering and powdering for even one day, the evil fungus was back with a vengeance.
This distressed me more than it did the woman I was dating at the time. She was a trooper, but I hated it.
My GOD, what an odor. When a breakout was in full force, my crotch became a seething, soupy cauldron of foulness, a stench so awful that Hades would bar its entry. I’d shower and scrub and dry and apply, just to keep it under control.
After a year of this bullshit, I went to the doctor. He was one of those bought-and-sold dupes of the pharmaceutical industry, and after a short inspection he gave me a prescription for what amounted to…Miconazole cream. I followed all the directions, showering, drying and applying twice a day.
The fungus subsided. But after the end of my course of treatment I decided to skip showering one day and – BAM! It was back with a vengeance.
At this point, I gave up. I had injured my back and wasn’t running anymore, but the jock itch remained. There was simply no killing it. It was more persistent than a three-year-old trying to show you his new trick.
Years went by and I spent hundreds of dollars on daily applications of powders and creams. I even went the alternative route and tried diluted tea tree oil, which was a severe mistake. That crap does not belong on your balls, full stop. Hippies need to stick to their areas of expertise (rolling joints, playing pan flutes) and leave the medicine to the experts.
Which is what I did. My previous doctor was arrested for selling expired flu shots and raping a patient, so I had to find a new doctor.
My new doctor is a good doctor, and he helped me with my back quite effectively. I didn’t bother him about the jock itch because I figured it was hopeless and I didn’t want to burden him with trivialities. I’m sure he’s bothered with trivialities enough already.
Then, about 6 months ago, the fungus re-appeared with a vengeance. By now, I was apoplectic. I had been fighting this war for seven fucking years at great expense. I resolved to see my cool new doctor and demand the nuclear option.
He inspected the disaster area and, after hearing of my seven year ordeal, agreed to offer the nuclear option. I took daily oral doses of a nasty fungicide for three weeks. It was harsh stuff, and I felt kinda chemical all the time, but there were no other side effects. I kept myself clean and dry.
At the end of my course of medication, I took off for Bosnia. I brought some cream with me in case the nuke had failed. I needn’t have worried. Once home, I let myself go for two days as a test. My hair was greasy and my pits stank, but my crotch was merely hairy. The tinea cruris was GONE!
Finally, my dick just smelled like…dick. You know – that musty aroma of manliness that causes slutty girls to sniff their fingers like their teenage boy counterparts after a heavy petting session. The kind of dick smell that seems to linger in locker rooms, barely detectable over the overwhelming attack of ammonia cleansers.
No more wretched fungus! Victory is mine!
No more does my crotch broil with reddened citadels of foul fungi; no more do I reach into my pants and pull back a finger full of ungodly stench; no more do I itch and chafe and rub.
I have a new regimen to keep my manhood manageable. I shower and dry, but now I just powder the area with generic talc. End of story. In the old days, my jock itch would laugh at fungicidal powder. The fungus would simply absorb and incorporate the powder, making the whole mess even more horrifying.
But no more! I can go days without showering, and my loins come through as sweet as honey-kissed cornbread. The war is over. Science has won the day (again)!
I would like to thank my doctor for making this happen, and I would like to thank my hair dryer for doing its best all these years.
And so, I have an announcement: ladies, the coast is clear!