Musings on Chamois Cream
Let hams comfy be!
by Raymond Parker

A cycling forum writer known as "Equinox" inspired me to "muse" on a question that often gets cyclists in a lather: When sore in the saddle we straddle, what be the remedy? Apologies due to Bill.

To cream or not to cream
That is the question.
Whether it is HTFU to suffer in the groin
the stings and rubbing of abrasive fulcrums
or apply bag balm against folicular bubbles
And by opposing, end them. To buy: to apply;
Even more; and by a daub to say we end
The heart-ache of a thousand unnatural shocks
That flesh is heir to, 'tis a prime location
Devoutly to be washed. To dry, to swab;
To swab: perchance to cream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that drop of glop what creams may come
When we have shuffled off this saddle rail,
Must give us gauze: where there's taint
That makes calamity of so long rides;
For he would bear the whips and scorns of slime,
The perineal prong, the proud man's contusion,
The pangs of despised lumps, the Brooks delay,
The insolence of poseurs and the boils
That impotent demerit, unworthy Fred,
When he himself might his quietus make
With a bare bodkin? Who would ass-hatchet bear,
To grunt and sweat over a weary strife,
But that the dread of something akin to death,
The undiscover'd country from whose bum
No traveller returns, guzzles the pill
And makes us rather bear those ills we have
Than try others that we know not of?
Thus compliance does make cowards of us all;
And thus the native pew of evolution
Is slathered o'er with the pale crap you bought,
Of ointments, salve, liniment and unguent
With this regard bare regions turn awry,
And lose the game of action. - Soft you now!
The pair, I feel ya! Limp, in nether regions
Be all my sins remember'd.

April 30, 2009