Hello, hairy stranger. I don’t recall inviting you to block my view of my penis for the past decade. Yes, I know that nobody pointed a gun to my head and forced me to march to the all-you-can-eat Chinese buffet. But it’s just too easy to bloat up in this starchy, sugary, Netflix-y modern world. Or maybe it’s genetics. Or evolution. Or that perfect, creamy goop at the center of a Twinkie. Aw, fuck it.