Matthew McConaughey’s armpits

Reputedly, McConNoWay has not worn deodorant in decades. Are you serious, you bongo-playing Bozo? Do you think we’ll be so enchanted by your sap-dripping drawl or leathery good looks that we’ll lose the use of our other senses? Like smell, for instance?

Aw, HELL no.

Kate Hudson supposedly asked surfer dude to roll on a crystal deodorant to ban his natural McConaughmusk while filming Fool’s Gold. He declined. I may not know how to lose a guy in 10 days but I do know how to lose a gal in 10 minutes, and it has something to do with B.O.

J.K. Livin' claims a good diet and showers contribute to his fresh scent. I’m sure you smell like butterflies and rainbows, Texas Tea, especially after a long run with one of your bromantic workout partners. I’m betting that Lance Armstrong is breathing out of his mouth during that last mile.

I suspect that designers aren’t keen on loaning red-carpet suits to him, either. If he wants to sit in his Airstream and stew in his own juices, that’s his business. But when a movie star takes up permanent residence in Funkytown, it’s time to take action.

I wish McKindahippie would take a tip from Duckie in Pretty in Pink, who at one point sniffed his pits and asked, “Do I offend?” No, sweet Duckie, you smell like Designer Imposter Drakkar Noir. Wooderson, on the other hand, does not smell all right, all right, all right, all right.

And because of that, he’s subject to my reign of ire. I want to make contact with Pigpen, driving his stanky ass through a carwash for a wash and buff. Better yet, I’d like to grab the biggest hose I can find, a bucket of industrial-strength cleaner—Dr. Bronner isn’t strong enough for this job—and scrub him down Silkwood-style. I’d roll on multiple coats of deodorant and force him into a shirt with a pocket so I could tuck a car air freshener in there for added measure. There’s no stench on my watch.

(Photo: unclestinky.wordpress.com)