Conan the Barberarian

From an e-mail exchange with Elizabeth Ann Scarborough wherein I was compelled to write this travesty:

"Grimly the iron-thewed Cimmerian wielded his mighty blade. Once, twice, thrice he stroked, and all were swept away by the ferocity of his attack. The air was filled with the coppery smell of lime-scented shaving cream, and snowy droplets of water-mixed soap were flung to each side. "Crom!" he grunted as the disposable razor, so expertly guided, still managed to nick his nipple, and his chest encrimsoned with the flow of the mighty barbarian's life's blood."