In a fit of tomfoolery, I stupidly smote my sultry ‘stache. This, my friends, is something I currently regret more than anything else. There was this one time in second grade that I flashed my wanger to some Israeli girl and her sister. I did that slick move where you come back from the bathroom with your ding dong hanging out of your zipper and are like “oops!” Whatever, I know you all do it. That was kind of hilarious, actually, even though it was really awkward when they told on me and I got in trouble.
However, I regret this follicle fiasco on a whole different level. Before I raised a blade to it, its newly sentient form spoke to me telepathically: “You can’t win, Joseph. If you strike me down, I shall become more powerful than you could possibly imagine.” Sure enough, as I ran my electric blade across its well-developed exterior, it deflated and disappeared entirely.
But we can rebuild it. We can make it faster and stronger. You, me, all of us will have to pour our hearts into it this time, but it will surely return. I can already hear it whispering to me in the cool Autumn breeze. I’ll see you again, old friend.
2 thoughts on “The King is Dead, Long Live the King!”
Now what am I supposed to ride?
A man without facial hair is hardly a man at all. I’m beside myself with disgust. Speaking of flavor savers and the like, remind me to tell you of my exploits in Gainesville this weekend. It is the single most bearded city in our fine nation, hands down.