Halloween has always been my favorite holiday. Some people get excited about Christmas or Valentine’s Day, but I live for the pumpkins, fake cobwebs, and questionable decisions made in the name of spooky fun.

So when my girlfriend suggested we host a Halloween party, I was all in. “You can be Dracula,” she said. “I’ll be your vampire bride.” Sounded easy enough. I’d wear a cape, slick my hair back, maybe add a little fake blood. Done deal.

Then she added, “You’ll need to shave. Vampires don’t have body hair.”

I laughed. She didn’t. Apparently, she was serious. I checked online, and she was right. Every vampire in movie history looked smoother than a marble statue. No chest hair, no beard, not even a hint of a five o’clock shadow.

So there I was the night before Halloween, standing shirtless in my bathroom, determined to become the sleekest vampire who ever lived.

I started with my beard. Easy. Then moved to my chest. A little more complicated, but manageable. Then I looked down and thought, “Well… Dracula probably didn’t have that either.”

At this point, I’d like to say I made a smart decision. But no, I grabbed my old-school razor. The same one I use for my face. I figured I’d be careful. How bad could it be?

You already know the answer.

It started fine. A little lather, a steady hand, some background music to keep things light. Then, out of nowhere, my wrist slipped. Just a tiny nick. Except it wasn’t tiny. Within seconds, I looked down and realized I had created my own horror movie.

There was blood. Not dramatic movie blood. Real, panic-inducing, “what have I done” blood.

I froze. My first thought was to call my girlfriend. My second thought was that there was absolutely no way I could explain this over the phone without dying of embarrassment first.

After what felt like an hour of first aid and self-reflection, I managed to stop the bleeding. I wrapped myself in a towel and stared at my reflection, pale and horrified. Ironically, I looked more like Dracula than ever.

The next night, I showed up to our Halloween party in my cape, fangs, and a brave face. My friends kept complimenting me on the costume. “You really committed to the role!” someone said.

If only they knew how much I’d committed.

Every step was careful. Every laugh was forced. Beneath the costume, a small bandage was the only thing keeping me together. That night, I made a silent promise: never again would I risk a razor down there.

A few weeks later, still traumatized, I stumbled across an ad for something called the Archibald Trimmer by BALLS. The tagline said it was designed to protect against cuts and nicks where it matters most.

Normally, I’d scroll right past an ad like that. But the memory of my Halloween incident came rushing back. My curiosity won. I ordered it.

When it arrived, I decided to give it a try. I was cautious at first, expecting that familiar sting of betrayal. But it never came. The Archibald glided smoothly, quietly, and—dare I say—confidently. No pulling, no irritation, and most importantly, no blood.

It was the first time in my life that grooming actually felt relaxing. I didn’t need bandages or backup towels. Just a clean, easy trim and a deep sense of relief.

By the time this year’s Halloween rolled around, I was a new man. My girlfriend suggested I go as a werewolf, which felt slightly ironic considering how smooth I’d become.

As I got ready, I thought about last year’s Halloween chaos. There was no panic this time, no hesitation. I used the Archibald, got a perfect result, and went on with my evening stress-free.

When my girlfriend saw me, she grinned. “You look amazing,” she said. “And you smell great too.”

That’s when I knew I’d finally won the Halloween grooming game.

If Halloween has taught me anything, it’s that real horror doesn’t come from haunted houses or ghosts. It comes from a traditional razor meeting your most sensitive parts.

Take it from me: vampires may fear sunlight, but men should fear dull blades.

So this spooky Halloween season, skip the blood and drama. Go with the Archibald Trimmer from BALLS. It’s clean, safe, and built to keep your bits intact, no matter how daring your costume is.

Because the only thing that should be scary on Halloween is your outfit—not your grooming routine.

Stay smooth. Stay spooky. And always respect your balls. 🎃