Some regard puberty as a deeply aversive act, it is intimately tied to it's impositions, bursting out of shorts in public incredible-hulk style, fluid seeping down legs and an endless din of mating calls keeping good folk awake past bedtime. Channel 4 has been rendered unwatchable by Women's Bum shows, played-out Women's Bum anecdotes that transfix those cursed by pubic stupor. Abstainers should be rewarded with a tax credit, alongside meal vouchers for those who can demonstrably halt an initiated puberty for longer than 3 months. Aren't they just neater? Much neater.
You stop puberty and suddenly the baggage allowance on planes will go up from all the weight saved, we'll stop driving cars and start driving go-karts and we'll never have to worry about banging our head on door-frames again. Medium-sized animals will be able to prey on us, rejuvenating an unhealthy monopolised ecosystem and never again will we live in fear of our unsightly pubic bushes bursting forth like a family of disgruntled hedgehogs during a work meeting. I have suffered the indignity of puberty, the physical manifestation of sin, I have stank and secreted, I am more than I should be, wish nothing more than to be ground down into ready-meal slurry by diminutive men with impeccable skin.