I can’t explain the fascination with squeezing monstrous pus-filled cankers and filming it for the entire world to see.
What I super really cannot explain is my disgusted fascination with watching it.
It’s so gross. It’s beyond gross. It’s f’gross.
I mostly try to desist from clicking on the image that enables the repulsive action to spring to life on my screen, but now Facebook does that for you so a momentary lapse of scrolling thumb action means it will start whether you want it to or not.
I know that it curdles my stomach and curls my toenails, but now again I simply forget myself and stare in utter disbelief that someone could let a festering pustule get the size and breadth that they do before seeking help.
Can you imagine the way those bad boys would pulsate as you tried to sleep at night? It’s so gross. Just writing about it is making my face screw in disgust. I wouldn’t normally write about something so repulsive (lies) but I was telling my friend Champagne Carolyn that I was feeling a little blogger’s block at the moment and asked her to give me some keywords for a challenge….do you know what she said?
God bless creative challenges for a little kick in my non-bleached arse.
I have to admit that I am a squeezer. I actually come from a long line of squeezers so I was really quite doomed when it comes to picking at things that are often initially invisible to the naked eye. The thing is once you scratch at it a bit or maybe give it a tentative squeeze with slightly grimy fingers you can often create something actually worth picking.
Not that I want to encourage spots. I mean, I’m 40 years old for god’s sake and walking around with a head full of half-baked zits is not great for the self-esteem.
But it is one thing to be a self-professed squeezer and find a modicum of satisfaction in blackhead excavation, it is quite another to lance someone’s boil, squeeze untold amounts of strange cottage cheese-like pus, film it, and post it online for social comment.
And yet another to get perverse enjoyment from watching.
“Popping” videos are actually a monster craze. You can see people squeezing cysts, 20-year-old blackheads, abscesses and even removing botfly larvae that is growing under the skin.
Whatever your popping fancy, you can find it online and be certain that there are thousands of other people equally simultaneously fascinated and repulsed like you are.
There are entire youtube channels dedicated to pimple popping and blackhead busting, and doctors who pride themselves on being the best in the business – like Doctor Pimple Popper. Not even joking.
Much like a porn site, you can go lowbrow with a home filmed wobbly iPhone camera job with friends commenting in the background or you can go upmarket for something performed under more sanitary conditions by professionals who know how to work the angles when squeezing for liquid gold.
I have been known to get some fairly large blinders in my life, but they rarely blossom into something prodigious worth squeezing. The one time I did it was in a place that I could yield no joy from.
My butt crack.
It was more than a pimple but less than a cyst but that thing freakin’ hurt like no tomorrow. I squeezed at it a few times over the weeks, to some satisfaction, but it would not go away. The problem was I couldn’t see it no matter what position I contorted into.
It was towards the end of my marriage – the death throes – so when I asked my husband to have a look he claimed it was no longer his job. I think I am of the ilk that would look at anyone’s crack zit if I had any form of affection for them, but I certainly would steer clear of a total stranger – just to be clear.
I was too embarrassed to ask a friend and finally my mum came to visit and I could show someone the source of my considerate discomfort. She sent me straight to the doctor.
As I lay on the doctor’s bed we discussed recipes while she scalpelled my numbed arse and even she was disappointed with the yield. There was nothing to see there except scar tissue from my obsessive squeezing of nothing very exciting. She cut that out, gave me a bum Band Aid, and off I went on my merry way.
I didn’t film it if that’s where you think this is going, I wouldn’t because that’s gross. I wouldn’t even talk about my bum crack under normal circumstances but in the name of overcoming blogger’s block I need to dig deep.
I’m doing for you.
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