A Letter To Your Pubic Hair From Your Frank And Beans

by 5 months ago

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Presented by Manscaped.com

[Editor’s Note: This letter was co-written by an unidentified man’s shaft and scrotum to its surrounding pubic region. To my knowledge, it is the only known evidence of communication between the aforementioned body parts. The original copy currently resides in the Smithsonian Museum. This is a transcript.]

Dear Pubes,

I hope this letter finds you well, or even at all, seeing as it may take a machete, compass and a hazmat suit to navigate through what you’ve let yourself become. 

Fear not, this letter is not intended to ridicule, instigate, or shame you.

For better or for worse, we will always be a family. And as such, we, Frank and Beans, feel obliged to express our worry for your self-abandonment and how this neglect has impacted our collective well-being. 

Pubes, we cherish the days of old when you’d demonstrate dignity by meticulously maintaining your shape and form. The glory days when it seemed like every other day we were introduced to a new lady who couldn’t help but be smitten by our manicured cohesion. When the undies dropped and we didn’t fight the urge to crawl inward, a reflex brought on only by intense cold or utter humiliation. We have become what we once laughed at: The package of a senior citizen in the locker room of a discount gym. 

Lest we forget, pubes, since the beginning of time, the frank and the beans were intended to be the stars of the show. Your reckless abandonment has reduced us to mere extras in your pathetic show for no one. And you wonder why every time the curtains drop now, there’s no fawning audience? It’s because you’ve drown out Leonardo DiCaprio and Vin Diesel in a sea of tangled Brendan Fraser’s. 

Lawnmower 2.0 by Manscaped

Manscaped


Pride aside, pubes, physically you’re becoming oppressive. You know we are claustrophobic, yet you let yourself grow over us like weeds of a wall outside an abandoned Radio Shack. Only difference is, weeds don’t smell like our grandfather’s jock strap mated with limburger cheese. The weight of a pile of endlessly entangled follicles is hard enough to shoulder, add a smell that could wake up the dead and whatever vermin you got crawling around in there, it’s become an untenable place to live.

Again, pubes, this letter is not intended to patronize you or remind you that you’ve become fucking disgusting.

We want to help. And for you, brother, only the best manscaping products on the market will do. Manscaped is NUMBER ONE in men’s below-the-waist grooming with a variety of engineered tools that provide precision, maneuverability, and a smooth, nick-free trim.

For us, I suggest the Lawn Mower 2.0–a water-proof electric trimmer that runs for an hour on one charge and runs at 6,000 strokes per minute, so we can make quick work of an otherwise arduous job. It’s the Mona Lisa of electric trimmers. 

BUY NOW

I hope you take this letter seriously and accept our help. Don’t make us gather around in a circle and stage an intervention. 

Stay Trim,
Frank and Beans

Manscaped

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