Pretty Good Beards

I'm going to talk about beards for a moment.

I hate mine.

I've been cursed with my Grandpa Spiers' wispy beard which, when covered with shaving foam and scraped at with a razor, just happily slops around without actually getting cut. I've shaved three times tonight and the best I've been able to achieve is the look of Radiation Victim.

This is how shaving works for me:

Round One: The weakest members -- namely any of those which are my original hair color -- fall first.

Round Two: I can succeed in getting most of the hair off the upper portion of my face, leaving a horrendous-looking neck beard white as the drifted snow.

Round Three: With a new disposable razor, I begin the scraping of the remnants.

Sink is clogged with fallen hair. Neck still looks like a neckbeard meme waiting to happen.

Round Four usually succeeds, but I have to shower first so the hairs on my neck know the gig is up and surrender.

Then it Immediately. Grows. Back.

The only utility it serves is:

1. It reminds me why dogs constantly scratch themselves
2. The mustache does an admirable job of hiding the most offensive nose hairs
3. I go from looking like Commander Riker's fat stepbrother to looking like Commander Riker's fat out-of-work bum uncle.

There's no point to this episode, except to announce that at Round Five I'm typically ready to try desperate measures, like a flamethrower or Nair.

Thanks for listening.

Now, I'll sing: "Buu buh, bu-pa bu-pa bu-pa bu-pa, BUH BUH BUH!"