I’ve got a fucking beard!

What up? Not much? Good. That’s the way I like it. No spiel about your car breaking down or nothing. On with business then. 

I’ve got a fucking beard! We’re doing Movember in the office. The idea is you grow a moustache to raise money/awareness for Prostate/Testicular Cancer. Basically everyone looks like a massive fucking idiot for 30 days and everyone donates pity money to charities, and everyone’s more aware about men’s health. Now. I cannot grow a moustache. I can’t. I can grow a pretty decent beard. Bits of ginger in it; very Celtic. But the upper lip has always remained hairless. So. What I planned to do was just not shave for the month, and when a moustache started to appear, shave the beard, leaving the ‘tache for all the world to see. No embarrassing growth time either, so everyone’s a winner. That was 18 days ago. And by this stage I’ve a fairly thick beard (and the moustache is getting there). If I shaved the beard there’d be a respectable enough ‘tache left to pick it up. But I do like the esteemed look the beard gives me. All I need are some Buddy Holly style Coca-Cola-bottle-lens-glasses, a cardigan and a corncob pipe. To the onlookers I would appear to be the smartest man on the planet. Aesthetically anyway. 

So that’s my great bit of news for the weekend anyway. I plan to strut the beard for a while anyway. Until a girl calls me ‘revolting’ or something along those lines. That’s what happened last time… 

Anyways. I bid thee fairwell and a good weekend. I shall spend it with friends getting fucked up.

Peace and love, peace and love (Ringo Starr you gombeen)

John

 

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