Sweat is not a lubricant. Not now, not ever. The moisture that accumulates in my asscrack has no other use beyond chapping my cheeks. Powder doesn't help. The person that perpetrated that myth never felt the drench of a good record-breaking hot day; never smelled the stench of a pair of underwear in their thirteenth hour. Converting three pounds of water weight into sweaty sweat causes gushing amounts of bodily fluid to expunge itself from orfices and pores; it streaks through the layers of dirt that lay on my skin, only to collect in a pool of filth and perspiration in the radiating ravine of my derrière. The resulting Eww de Toilette is the same consistency and smell of a semi-firm pile of baby shit.
Go ahead, Powder.
Freshen that up.
Complaints bounce off the mountains. You can't hear the bitching of a teenager over the sounds of my contentment. And most importantly, my ass doesn't stick to a kayak seat.