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The Gillette Fusion Defines Me as a Person

All > "Art" > Literature > Humor > The Gillette Fusion Defines Me as a Person by jlcoke

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I'm a can-do, take-charge, go-getter who doesn't have time for bullshit. I like my coffee black, my cars fast, and my music loud. I'm climbing the corporate ladder, kicking ass and taking names. With this kind of fast-paced, conquer-the-world kind of lifestyle, is it any wonder that the Gillette Fusion is the razor that defines me as a person?

A man like me can't afford to be seen guiding some puny little single-bladed piece of crap Bic across his face each morning. Bic makes pens, and what's more they make pens for losers. Have you ever seen the president sign a bill with one of those things? I rest my case. You know who buys shitty plastic razors 24 to a pack? The unwashed masses, that's who, and I'll be damned if I'm one of those suckers.

No, my razor has five, count 'em, FIVE blades. Lubricating comfort strips, a textured aluminum handle, and most important of all, only one to a pack. That's right, I stand alone. Like the display at the end of the isle, I'm proud to be apart from the rest of the pack. As those five precision-crafted blades glide swiftly across my face each morning, I can't help but think of myself. Five times the office size, five times the money, five times the women, and five times the sex appeal. Five times more than the average jerk, that's me in a nutshell. Sure, the blades cost five times as much, but I like to think that says a little something about me too.

I'm not some kind of completely arrogant, self-obsessed prick though. On the contrary, I also have a humble, minimalist side, and so does the Fusion. Opposite the five ruthlessly efficient, meticulously crafted blades lies a lone blade for precision sculpting of my sideburns and mustache. While Middle America uses a single blade to shave their whole face, the only time I use just one is for making artisan touchups to my power 'stache. The next time you're shaving your pathetic stubble, you think about that.

So drive your Hyundais to work, America. Kiss your fat wife and your ugly kids goodbye each morning and head to the office to collate and file. Think of me and my five-bladed lifestyle and eat your sorry little hearts out.

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