I hereby declare my personal war on beards.
Their sweaty faces and droll antics amuse me no longer. Their claim that "Jesus had a beard, man" makes me sick and guilty.
For too long I've envied the lions of our species for their homo-assertive genetic confluence, not realizing the tragic flaw that forced them into such a lonely and piliferous existence in the first place.
You see, the bearders aren't like you or me. Sure we have our similarities-- shying away from sunlight, exercise etc. But that's where it ends. Taking a razor blade to your face means something these days (and no, clippers don't count). I'm talking taking a deadly edge, truncating your hairs and scratching off a layer of skin EVERY MORNING. You know what that does to a man? Makes him smooth. Smooth like a baby.
But these guys don't want to be babies; they want to be animals. They want to remind us that it's not so bad getting crumbs and sauce stuck in your hair, so long as it's cleaned off within the week by some noble forest creature. Sure, maybe if I "had" to shave more than once every three "days", or if I didn't have the follicles of a naked mole rat, I might be puking a different breakfast. We all might be. But I'm a man of reality, and my reality says I need to pick on a group of people today.
Tom Petty, you got away this time. But don't think I've forgotten about you.
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