One evening last week, I got all hopped on cold medicine and decided it was a great time to ask Eli “Killjoy” Roth about something that I’ve been curious about for a few years.

How come you once waxed your chest? And how did that register on the pain scale, say, from 1 to 10? With 10 being the worst, obviously.

Of course, I figured Roth would just read my question with a disgusted look on his face and then ignore the hell out of it. Oh, was I ever wrong…

1 to 10? 1000. It wasn’t like ripping off a bandaid, it was like tearing off skin. I figured maybe I’d get some bumps after, but I did not expect my t-shirt and suddenly look like I just snuggled with Pinhead. I walked out of there, completely dazed, numb from the pain, and minutes later realized that I was bleeding through my shirt from hundreds of tiny holes. I looked like I’d just been through a medieval witch trial. I did it because honestly I was bored and figured why not. I wanted to see what I looked like without it, and to see how long it would take to grow back if I waxed it. It was just something that guys were doing, since this was the 90’s. And to tell you the truth, once the chest hair was gone, I kind of missed it. Luckily, a week passed and all was back to normal in the forest of Roth.

PRINT IT.

You heard the man. Now, since we’re talking about the fucking Bear Jew here, the idea of waxing is a rather hilarious one and a highly quantifiable one at that. Now, I’m gonna just gracefully wind up this discussion and resist the urge to make a House of Wax joke.