Dr. Pimple Popper without the video

I seriously debated telling this story, but considering Dr. Sandra Lee, AKA Dr. Pimple Popper, has almost seven million YouTube subscribers, I figured there are at least a few sick fucks who want to read it.

And yes, you are a sick fuck. That shit is nasty. I can’t watch it. I’ve seen a couple of her videos and I wish that brain bleach was actually a thing. Mind you, I can’t handle any kind of video of a medical procedure. Even a fictionalized one. My wife and I were watching Killing Eve and I can watch Villanelle slit throats and blow people’s brains out, but I had to look away when she was getting a small cut on her arm stitched up.

But if it’s my own body I don’t mind. When I donate blood, I watch the needle go in.

Anyway, this is a pimple-popping story. More than one, actually, because no one ever gets just one pimple. And sometimes it’s really satisfying. Like, yesterday. Yesterday was fucking satisfying. But bide on that one for a bit.

I remember a great one. I wish I’d been further away from the mirror. I was about 16 and I noticed a sizeable lump in the crease next to my nose. Now I’d learned the hard way that if there is no head, you leave that shit alone. Using a pin to poke a hole is only successful about 10% of the time. Most of the time it makes it worse and turns a small pimple into a massive one. You gotta see white before you pop. I mean unless it’s some massive infected bullshit that requires Dr. Pimple Popper. But for the home procedure, it’s always better to wait.

But this great one did not have white. It did have a visible hole, however. There was this massive zit deep down next to my nose, and this little hole above it. I was uncertain if I should try. I worried I’d turn it into an angry red unexploded volcano. But I probed a bit, and pushed a little, and then pushed a little more, and then BLAMO!

Like I said, I wish I’d been further away from the mirror. Yeah, there was a bit of blowback, but I’d love to have seen how far that fucker would have traveled. I think it might have gone five feet. It was an epic explosion. And a total emptying too. Everything came out, the mass flattened out nicely, there was no angry red after-effects, and even the little hole that gave birth to a giant pus baby tightened back up. You couldn’t even see there had been a zit. It was so satisfying I’d explode one of those fuckers every day if I could.

Okay now is the story about the eight-month long zit.

It didn’t seem fair I was still getting zits at the age of 29. I had just begun my MBA, and this zit showed up on my neck and would notgo away. I kept cutting it shaving. It kept scabbing and then the scab would come off and there would be more pus. There was just this permanent scabby red lump on my neck that wouldn’t heal. Of course, first-year MBA isn’t fun at the best of times, but I was in a program that was teamwork focused, and 60% of all our grades in first year were based solely on the work we did with a single team for the first eight months. This zit was a festering representation of the team I had. There was one other quality contributor on the team, a couple of useless people, and one guy who I will hate until the day I die.

I don’t want to shit on all mature students, but sometimes mature students are just the fucking worst. Most of the people in the program were aged 25 to 35. This guy was 48. Hell, I’m four years older than he is now. But the problem was he was arrogant as fuck and exceedingly difficult to work with. He felt his word was law and we should all just follow his leadership because he was older and allegedly more knowledgeable. That might not have been a problem if he wasn’t also dumb as fuck.

So, we fought a lot. It’s a testament to my self-control that I never laid the fucker out. Anyway, the eight-month zit.

First year was almost done. There were only a few classes left and I’d never have to work with that arrogant imbecile again, and I cannot express how much I was looking forward to putting that team in my rearview.

Speaking of which, I was on my way to school, stopped at a red light, looking in the rearview mirror. There was something different about the zit.

There was something dark.

I picked at it, and there was a bit of blood, and I got hold of something, then I pulled a four-inch-long fucking hair out of my neck.

“YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” I yelled at the hair, followed by a honking horn behind me because the light turned green. I pulled into a parking lot. I gave the zit a bit of a squeeze and there was no pus and just a bit of plasma. The healing could finally begin. Coupled with the impending end of my hellish first year of MBA, it was truly one of the greatest days of my life.

I still have a scar though. If we ever meet and you want to see it, I’ll show it to you.

It was after that I realized I wasn’t getting zits at the age of 29, I was getting ingrown hairs from shaving that manifested as zits. Not that often, but every few years there would be a “zit” that would require some serious tweezer excavation and eventually I’d find the culprit and dig it out.

How do you know when you’ve found the culprit? Simple. A hair that is not ingrown has a strong root. If you’re tugging and it’s like no fuck you I wanna stay, then that’s not the one. You know you’ve got the right one when it oozes its way out, offering no resistance. THAT is the infected motherfucker.

So, last Friday I had a red welt right on my moustache area. No head though, so I left it. The following morning there was a gigantic whitey, so of course I squeezed that fucker and cleaned out all the goop and put some Bactroban on it.

And then it scabbed over, and the next morning I could see the scab was sickly and it easily came away and there was more pus. So, I squeezed and cleaned again.

Next day, same thing.

I searched for a hair, but could find none. I dug at it with tweezers, but the fucker just wasn’t there. Could this just be an actual zit? I was beginning to wonder. I used hand sanitizer (ouch) and Bactroban like mad to kill whatever was in there, and by Thursday morning it seemed like there was a healthy scab, so I thought maybe it was over.

I gently tested the scab, and it was not firmly affixed, it came away easily. More pus underneath. GODFUCKINGDAMMIT!

I grabbed the tweezers and poked deep into the ruined flesh. I KNEW there was an arrogant little asshole hair in there making my life miserable just like that asshole mature student from my MBA. I couldn’t see it, but it had to be in there, and I’m gonna find you, you little shit.

And then I did. The hair slimed its way out like something out of Aliens when the eggs begin to hatch. “GOTCHA YOU MOTHERFUCKER!” I yelled at the disgusting hair clasped in the tweezers. I was so elated I sent my wife a text to tell her the good news.

More Bactroban, and it’s been 24 hours and it’s healing up nice now.

I’m looking forward to being able to shave tomorrow.

I just did a sort of update to this post for subscribers that you can read here.