Saturday, June 02, 2007

Ending it all with razor blades, one way or another.

I quit. I can’t take it anymore. It’s driving me insane. If I don’t end this right now I am going to seriously kill myself. Screw this, it’s over.

I’m going to shave.

I’ve been letting my facial hair grow for two weeks already and now I look like I tried to give oral pleasure to a porcupine. I thought I looked pretty good around day four, but it was straight in the crapper from there. What was once a nice rockstar-amount of stubble has now left me very hobo-like in appearance. I’m amazed my boss hasn’t fired me yet, leaving me penniless on the streets to fulfill my whiskery beard’s destiny.

Like many of the problems in my life, I’d like to blame this one on Jamie. Two weeks ago she messaged me all the way from Hawaii saying some nights she would curiously wonder if I had a beard. I said I didn’t, and she said she was glad because the thought of it kind of scared her.

And you know how much I love scaring people.

Well, mission accomplished.

Now girls give me that odd look when they talk to me. You know, the one where they try to smile at you all normally but their eyes are awkwardly open slightly wider and pinched in as if to say “what the fuck?”

But seriously, I thought I might actually look good with this thing. I’d be all mature looking. I’d have a regal quality. Almost sexy. From far away, it’s not that bad, but get anywhere closer than five feet and my face just looks like a close up of a fly butt. And the last time I checked, most bug asses aren’t known for getting a lot of action.

Except action from other insects, that is. And since I’d prefer to make out with females more human in appearance, it’s time to say, “Bye, bye, Beardie.”