Today’s classy woman makes informed decisions about the partner she chooses. She wants a man who knows at what temperature to properly serve cheese. A man who knows how to correctly decant cellared red wine to remove sediment. A man with at least a passing knowledge of American Modernist literature. A man who’s not going to run off with the first slapper who rubs up against him on the dancefloor, just as the Vengabus’ arrival appears imminent.
In short, the bogan male needs help to pick up a classy chick. Thankfully, help has arrived in the form of the Lynx Effect – an effect caused by scent so primally potent, females of the species instantly devolve to making mating decisions based purely on pheromonal response. After all, it’s named after a wild, toothsome big cat. One spray of this magic concoction, and even the most terminally ugly and crass bogan male can mack with the most ferociously unattainable corporate lawyer-cum-lingerie model.
The Lynx effect is so powerful, in fact, that other male grooming companies sent their super-awesome scientists off on missions to incorporate it into their slightly-less-masculine products. What emerged was a collection of hideously fragrant armpit saturators so powerful that it’s a wonder why bogans everywhere aren’t busy forming harems of slavering, fecund concubines. And the Lynx Effect spread to other deodorants. Brut, once the realm of older men looking for some generic, affordable suave chic, became ‘STILL BRUTALLY MALE’, making said middle-aged men the supposed target for the very slappers their wives are supposedly terrified of.
The smells created are so new to humankind, the companies eventually gave up trying to give them properly adjectival names, and instead assigned them words like ‘Accelerate’, ‘Sharp Focus’, ‘Pulse’, ‘Vice’ and ‘Dimension’. Of course, with smells so powerful, and names so powerful, it stood to reason that the cans’ propellant be so forceful as to be capable of generating individual ozone holes in three sprays. Thus, the bogan can empty a can once a week, soon enough to maintain a rotating roster of nostril-assaulting musk.
On Thursday, the bogan’s ‘Java’ day, it exits its home to head off for work, a vaporous cloud wafting gently behind it, looking for all the world like heat haze. It wanders into the office, all winks and finger-guns, before slapping its co-worker on the rump and asking ‘Toots’ how she’s doing. On Friday he can no longer afford access to the Lynx Effect.