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Howdy y’all! Welcome to this week’s edition of Darby Burl’s No Bullshit Reviews. I’m Darby Burl! Last time we talked about Wonder Woman’s lack of muscles. For today’s review, I will step out of my lady lumberjack comfort zone and into granola-chompin’, patchouli-stankin’ hippie-land to try a new deodorant.
Now I been using Old Spice since I was knee-high to a duck. People always tell me, Darby Burl, that's for boys. I say: with all due respect (which is none), people been telling me that bout everything I like. Lumberjackin', campin', shootin', axe throwin', walking down the street without being sexually harassed every five minutes, chewing tobaccy, peeing standing up, Old Spice. Got-tam! Cain't I have one thang?
Anyhow, Old Spice always done me good. Smells like chemical pine sap, mountain breezes and freedom. It’s cheap. You can buy it just about anywhere. Don't leave residue. Keeps my stank sterile. And I tell you, ain't nobody sweat like Darby Burl.
But since I moved from Eureka, Montana to Eureka, California, my hippie dippie commie friends tell me Old Spice is not "copacetic, man." They flappin' their yaws like,
"Darby Burl, that shit car-sin-o-gin-ick."
Son, according to the State of California, so's your Anti-American Starbucks Soy Milk Low Fat Vanilla Fairy Dust 2nd Amendment-Hating Sparkle Poof Latte. But you don’t see me knocking that liquid wuss-serum outta your flappy little fingers. This is got-tam MERIKA where we can kill ourselves with our stupid choices if we want to.
Anyway, they tell me to try this Schmidt's Rose + Vanilla Natural Deodorant. Claimed it's good fer the Earth and made with "natural" stuff. Whatever that means. But, hey, they was right about redwoods being the most majestic dirt-dwellin’ giant toothpicks this side o’ the milky way, so I ordered me their Marxist pit-paint on Amazon. What’s the worst that could happen?
Gotta say, when it arrived, I was 'bout as nervous as a long tailed cat in a room full of rockin' chairs. What if I put it on and I suddenly cain't stop singing Kumbaya between fits of telling people the merits of a vegan lifestyle?
Soon as I opened the cap, my fears was quelt. The breath of cherubs, unicorn farts, and a whiff of Ed Sheeran's soul wafted into my nostrils. Smelt like someone et my backyard roses, gargled with vanilla extract and burped in my face. I mean that in the best of ways.
Yet while it agrees with my nose, it ain't agree with my flannel shirts. Every one now got white stain on them underpits, as if my dog done et chalk and poot-scooted across 'em.
Worst, my armpits bubbled into boils. Yep, boils. Painful. Yellow. Pus-filled. And ooooo every time a southerly breeze hit em they BURNED as if Satan hisself was lickin my pits. Hard nuff getting my old man Barry Burl to look at me like my dogs look at chicken feces - them boils just turnt him right away. Took but a week back on Old Spice to clear 'em up. Now my underpits once again look like Gal Gadot's in Wonder Woman, 'cept yeti-style.
Checked the reviews on Amazon and it sounds like I ain’t the only one ended up with armpit blight. Tons o’ tree-huggin’, patchouli-stankin’ hippies whining ‘bout the stuff causin’ chemical burns. Ouchie douchie! Definitely never buying that white, pungent Satan-spackle ‘gin.
Anyhowzit, I give this product a yee-naw on a scale of chicken turd to yippety-yeehaw on account of its heavenly scent. Otherwise woulda been a chicken turd. Hoo-eee!
What's your favorite deo for the B.O.? Ever had an allergic reaction to deodorant?