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And like me, you’ll probably have some hair on your ass. The area where I could have a tramp stamp looks like the Amazon rainforest. I was once paid twenty bucks by your crazy Uncle Ray to shave my ass. I want to make that clear, he paid me. He was so disgusted at the briar patch on and around my ass that he coughed up what was probably a half day’s pay at the time to see the bramble above my butthole go away.

Ray also paid our friend Dave one hundred dollars to let us shave him. Dave was a hairy motherfucker. He was somewhere between Vic Tayback and Chewbacca. So you can see why Ray would be tempted to see him bald as a baby mouse. He actually threw a Shave Dave party. I was there. Dave stood in Ray’s apartment complex driveway, Ray hit him with the hose, then we all sprayed him with shaving cream and took turns with the Bic. It was so much fun that Ray actually started roping people from his apartment building into it. There were a couple of older Asian ladies living below him who had just come back from the market. They were literally carrying grocery bags but Ray managed to charm, or bully, them into taking a turn clearing the brush from Dave’s back.

Now, when it comes to pubes, a nice trim is okay. But you don’t want to be shaved balls guy. Blades have no business that close to your business. But don’t let it overgrow either. You ever see a mailbox with the lawn overgrown around it? It makes the four-by-four post it’s sitting on look much shorter. So you get out there with the Weed Whacker and make that post look like the Washington Monument.

The good news is no one wants to see your nuts, anyway. No woman has ever said, “He had such a sexy ball sack.” Scrotum is ugly on every man. Brad Pitt’s scrotum looks the same as Dick Cheney’s. You could set up an experiment where very different famous people put their balls through holes in a piece of plywood and no one would be able to tell whose was whose. This could be a fun reality show, Celebrity Ball Sack Challenge. I don’t think anyone could correctly match the celebrity… unless we threw Lance Armstrong in the mix.

Balls are a pain in the balls. They should retract like landing gear. The sack is just this thing that can get in the way and be injured. Plus, it has more funk per square inch than a decomposing horseshoe crab.

Since I’m on your balls — sorry if that sounded weird — here’s a tip. I’ve found that a light dusting of talc down the boxer briefs will absorb any moisture and smell and give you multiple wearings. Save yourself some electricity and water. That’s the kind of environmental tip you won’t get from Al Gore. Because he free-balls it.

And on that note, let me suggest you go with boxer briefs. I have come to this conclusion after experiments with both boxers and briefs, and they truly are the best genitalia container.

I never understood boxers. They’re cool if you’re going down to the lake to swim with the chicks, but not if you’re at home alone and your dick is hanging out of the fly. That opening is like a compressed pita or one of those 1960s vagina-looking plastic change purses that you squeeze to open. My ding-a-ling would always pop out of those. So I’d have to do that two finger move where you grab the fabric and do a little butt dip to pop the dick back in. And briefs just ride up on you. I’ve never been a fan of the tighty-whitey.

But, recently, when I was looking at the pack of boxer briefs I noticed something. I had to bust out the jewelers’ loupe to figure out the size. The lettering on the box that tells you the size was literally less than an eighth of an inch. I started thinking about it. They use the same Marky Mark — esque model on the cover of all the underwear packages no matter what size. Size 28 to 32 or 48 to 52 has the same chiseled guy with the six-pack abs on the cover. What gives?

My line of men’s underpants will have a package where the model looks like he wears the underwear contained in the box. On the size 44 to 52, there will be a guy who looks like Michael Moore holding a can of Stroh’s. This would make it a hell of a lot easier to pick out your size. Instead of squinting, you would just say, “Yep, that’s what my fat ass looks like in the mirror.” It’d be a job creator, too. That way it won’t be the same hairless gay guy for every box. We could kick some of the plus-size long-haul truckers and toll-booth operators some extra work.