October 10, 2013
Most people remember where they were when man first walked on the moon, when the The Berlin Wall fell, or when Elvis died in the middle of a poop. I remember where I was when I first discovered Biorè Pore Strips.
It was a chilly day in Chicago and the year was 1997.
I was working as THE BEST NANNY IN THE HISTORY OF ALL NANNIES INCLUDING MARY POPPINS WHO BASICALLY LOOKED LIKE AN ABUSIVE A-HOLE COMPARED TO ME.
The mailman came to the door and I chatted with him for a bit. Probably about the fact that door to door mailmen should be allowed to wear roller skates like Sonic car hops because it’s faster, more stylish, and if a fierce dog is chasing you you could just do a really fast Shoot The Duck and probably knock him over.
After he left I perused the pile-o-mail and came upon some girlie fashion magazine that my employer subscribed to. I sat down and flipped through it looking for samples of perfume and lotion that I could take to make up for the fact that I wasn’t being paid enough to actually buy any of these fancy products, and that’s when I saw it:
The Biorè Pore Strip.
WTF was THIS? It looked like some sort of nose tape for snorers, or a bandage for a busted nose. But heck, it was free and momma loves her some free stuff.
So I stuck it on my nose and continued to flip through the magazine and take some dumb ass quiz about what kind of lover I am, then I pulled the strip off and the angels sang.
And they sang clear.
Just like my pores.
Not only was I convinced that I could suddenly breathe through each and every one of my nose pores, but when I looked at that nose strip I was in freakin’ AWE. The strip looked all stalagmitey and stalactitey like the inside of a cave. It was like those rainbow colored Magic Rocks that my neighbor had when we were kids that you put in water and they grow. (Yes, my neighbor had them. I didn’t have them because my parents obviously didn’t love me.) Anyways, I was horrified yet intrigued by what I had just ripped out of my nose.
I was so amazed that I called The Hub to tell him about the miracle I had just performed on my nose. Then on my way home from work that night, I stopped to buy a box so that I could get all Jesusy and perform miracles on his nose too.
And he was amazed.
Although The Hub was in grad school and we were on a pretty strict budget, I couldn’t keep myself from buying box after box after box of these things.
They were my heroin.
Once you try them you can’t stop.
But the high won’t ever be quite the same.
The gunk won’t ever be as impressive as it was that first time.
But still, you’ll spend months, or even years, chasing the dragon. You’ll keep trying to get that same epic high that you got when you firs pried that dried up pore strip from your clogged up schnoz.
And they aren’t cheap.
And you’re on a budget.
So you’ll try finding cheaper substitutes for your smack.
Scotch Tape won’t work so you’ll try Masking Tape.
When that fails you’ll try Duck Tape.
When that disappoints, you’ll try Elmer’s Glue.
And after a near disaster with Krazy Glue, you’ll realize that the only thing that will clean your pores the way Biorè did (and without removing the top layer of your skin) is Biorè.
So you’ll hit the newsstands pretending to look through a Cosmopolitan muttering things aloud like “YES! I need to know how to give my man an orgasm using nothing but my feet!” so that the creepy newsstand guy will get turned on and won’t send you away for for reading something for free. Then when he turns his back to help a paying customer, you will rip the Biorè sample out, shove it in your pocket, and be on your merry way.
You will hit every newsstand within a 20 block radius on foot, then start branching out on your bike.
You will strip your nose so many times that your pores will be empty of all debris and look glowing and perfect.
And eventually there will be no more gunk to strip out.
But you NEED the to feel the satisfaction of stripping the gunk.
You can’t stop.
So you’ll start looking for victims.
And after you’ve perfected your husband’s pores, you’ll move on to your friends.
Then his friends.
Then the people who live in your building.
“Have you guys seen that girl hanging out in the laundry room asking if she can strip your pores?”
“Yes! She wanted to strip mine last week!”
“I heard she stripped the guy in 3b. He said she smelled like those magazine perfume samples and kept talking about roller skating mailmen. Stay away from her!”
Then you start wandering the streets, hanging out in alleys and under bridges, looking for willing hobos with questionable facial regimens.
The hobo pores will be your best fix so far. But word will spread that you’re a hot mess, and they’ll soon start avoiding you.
So you’ll start wandering into bad neighborhoods and crack dens, looking for your next fix. The totally effed up faces of meth heads will seem like a challenge. You will consider the clearing of their pores your finest achievement.
“Psst! If you let me strip your nose I’ll give you the leftover pain pills from my surgery last year. I’ll even mash them up so you can snort them if you want. I will bring you some Sudafed and Drano. JUST LET ME STRIP YOUR PORES!”
You’ll become so obsessed that even the tweakers won’t let you touch them.
When tweakers are freaked out by you you’ll really know you screwed up.
And the dealers who run those neighborhoods will kick your ass and tell you to get out of their territory.
And you’ll have nowhere else to go.
And no more pores to clean.
And your friends and family will stage an intervention.
But they will do so with super amazingly clean and tight pores.
And finally, you’ll see the light.
And you’ll do your 10-step program back to Biorè Sobriety.
And then, 16 years later while messing around on Google, you’ll see that Biorè released a Deep Cleansing Pore Strip Limited Edition Tin, and all those desires to strip gunk out of your nose will resurface.
You will fall off the wagon and try to order one, but you will discover that it was released LAST YEAR and is no longer available.
So you will sink into a deep pore cleaning depression from which you will never ever return.
At least until 5 minutes later when your cat does something funny and you get a phone call and you totally forget that you were supposed to be in a deep pore depression in the first place.
Then a few days later you’ll see it in your Google history and be like “Oh yeah! I’m supposed to be all pissed off about Biorè!” and then you’ll sit down and write a really weird blog about it.
Then your son will come in and ask if he can use the computer and you’ll say “Sure” but not before sneaking a peak at his pores and thinking to yourself “He’s only 12, but when he’s about 16 and those pores look like shit, I’m gonna change his life.”
And the cycle continues.
*I was NOT paid or given gifts by anyone (including Biorè) to write this post. Although I SHOULD have been, if you ask me. I should probably even do a commercial for them. I could be like the Walter White of Biorè. The biggest Biorè dealer in the US and parts of Mexico and Europe. I could be the one who knocks. I could kill a scary guy who runs a bunch of chicken restaurants that use deep fryers and are responsible for clogging the pores of millions of people. And I could RULE THE WORLD.
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