Primal, Undergrowth, Bushy, Enshroud, Shag-Pile




Suggested Audio Candy


[1] Kool & The Gang “Jungle Boogie”

[2] Cerrone “Supernature”




One thing invariably leads to another in Keeper’s world. Recently, whilst scribing a piece werewolves and their folklore, I found myself propelled towards the topic of body hair. All was going swimmingly until I started sourcing images using key words such as “hairy” and “growler”. I was led such a merry dance that it swiftly became apparent that I have much to wax on with regarding the presence of hair on one’s body. Typical bloody Keeper; got an opinion on everything. However, this time I feel I may well be onto something. After a few minutes of scrolling art, something hit me square between the eyes like a discarded garden hoe, and I just had to run here and tell you all about it. That’s right Grueheads; this shit is hot off the press. Steaming hot!


The seventies bush…is coming back with a vengeance. This may well have already been forecast, I don’t keep up with current events or trends, and don’t need a catwalk to tell me what looks good and what looks bogus.Got my own mind you see and it’s free-hold. It happens to be rather marvelous so long as no perilously placed bottles of Merlot spill over my white mink rug. Then I’m as dense as spam. Anyhoots, back to the bush. Mark my words, by the spring the whole world will be sporting fuzzy genital manes that Simba would be proud of. If my prophecy is fulfilled then the bikini waxing industry could be in dire straits. Furthermore it is my belief that it’ll go the full hog. The afro and the Jheri-curl are both coming back with a furry vengeance. Chest wigs at dawn, Alec Baldwin is having a winter clearance on 17.5% of his frontal fluff which equates approximately to nearly a cubic ton of pubic freebies.


We can use these if we box smart; I’m talking mittens, thickets, thatches, and foliage as far as the eye can see. There may even be surplus which we can use as loft insulation and fashion prunable bushes in our front yards. That’s my exclusive projection for the year ahead. Middle aged ladies the world over will be attempting to reverse their electrolysis, packing their armpits with fertile peat and cramming hunks of the stuff in their handbags to fashion neck scarves for the Salvation Army. I’ve never been a hairy one myself, a carousel of stragglers around my nipples and the obligatory lower navel strip is all she wrote. My posterior is as smooth as a punnet of ripened peaches and with the same adorable layer of wispy fuzz. Front-side, on the other hand, demands a little more consideration as the growth there has no rhyme or reason. It follows no template, prefers unruliness to pertinence, and cannot be governed. Like the room of barbed wire from Suspiria; any attempts to traverse will invariably end in sheer bloody rancor.


No ‘fros for Keeper; much as I’d adore having a stock of tightly knitted hair on my barnacle, alas it is too fine to stockpile into anything truly noteworthy so I wear my afro in my heart. One would assume that, at some point, I ingested Leo Sayer. That’s right…I was awaiting a snack of the Hendrix or Kravitz caliber but Leo had space in his calendar so I got stuck with him instead. I suppose the show must go on. As you know Grueheads, to truly understand the beast I have been required to reach inside and pluck out my inner savage. I learned the process from the likes of John Belushi, the consummate professional who put his all into this art in a quest to fully inhabit the character in question. Therefore it has been necessitated that I scratch my balls a little and foul on a few pavements. I couldn’t merely spend a day as Benji; it has been required for me to slobber like Cujo in order to truly get into character.



In return this has enlightened me as to the intricacies of the beast, allowed me to wear its pelt proudly, no collars or pooping on command, instead I’ve prowled around mulberry bushes, sniffing out my prey and growling from my underbelly. I have gleaned invaluable insight into bodily hair and its importance and, all of a sudden, I have embraced the allures of matted shrubbery and the unique advantages this affords. Study the facts Grueheads; it forms a protective cushioned nest within which to snuggle your junk. Moreover it is with the elements, not exposed but intricately woven into darkness. From this concealed vantage the monster can pounce with more conviction. It’s warm in the winter months, a cattle shed with a manger, fuzzy mittens for a rainy day, a willow from which to weep, and a roost for your resident starling.


Winter is closing in, conditions are worsening, the chill in the air is biting and we must do all we can to resist its icy embrace. While it’s more of a mossy mullet than course dreadlocks for Keeper, I have played my part the past week and currently fly the pubic flag proudly. Of course, I do understand that flimsy thongs bound with godawful chafing cheese-wire will be back in vogue by the time the trees blossom, but for now nobody is watching and all junk’s in the trunk so what have you got to lose?


An Ode To Bush




Mark my words it’s returning
The wheels are now turning
Let us harvest the crops


It’s a shoulder to cry on
A fleece blanket to lie on
I’m all in at the flop


Should you leave fur discarded
And your fortress unguarded
Then you’ll soon rue the day


It makes so much more sense
To embrace all that’s dense
It’s just better this way




No more need for that razor
Or removal via laser
Just allow it to flourish


I just howled at the moon
May vacate my cocoon
As it’s time now to nourish


If we all join together
And just never say never
We can hunt in a pack


Let those whiskers roam wild
Like a seventies child
Let’s bring disco right back



You heard it first here Grueheads. As of now the pubic revolution is upon us and soon we will have reclaimed our rightful place in society. It’s time for that Brazilian to encompass the whole of South America as we let nature take its cause. I shall continue to mow the lawn for my mother every second week but downstairs I shall be leaving the beast to growl without the unpleasantness of rashes or shaving cuts. Of course, not every bush comes in peace and I urge you to keep a watchful eye out for nefarious predators. Here’s one now; if we remain silent he may not pick up on our trail of molted pubes. And remember, nobody mention The Plame Affair. I hear he’s still sore about that one.




Truly, Really, Clearly, Sincerely


Keeper of the Crimson Quill



Hair of The Dog






It just wouldn’t be decent leaving without a closing gallery on this occasion. Pubic hair is something which should be celebrated; for too long it has lurked in the shadows like O.J. Simpson. For this melange of flange, I have checked every nook and cranny, just to ensure we have plenty of whiskers on exhibit. I must also make a confession as, despite campaigning for a return to seventies bush, I’m actually rather partial to sleek surfaces. Perhaps the best solution would be to shave half of my pubic hair and I implore you to try the same. Seems like the best of both worlds to me although it could lead to lopsided cunnilingus but I guess we have to take the rough with the smooth. Right now it’s all about the rough and what better to floss our dentures than with a mess hall of glorious pubes?



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