Every Man, Woman, And Child Should Grow A Beard At Least Once In Their Lifetime

Beards are natural. They invigorate. They teach. Hieroglyphics found near the Fertile Crescent suggest that an ancient human’s beard was regarded as a minor deity, and being in its presence could elevate one to what the Hindus would later go on to call Samadhi; the Buddhists, Nirvana; the Japanese, Bushido. The first guy to cut off his beard was branded as a heretic, smeared with animal lard, and sent into the jungle to first be licked, and then ripped apart by ravenous hordes of savage beasts, as was tradition at the time.

Everyone had beards back then. I look around today, and see so much face-skin it makes me sick. If I’ve learned anything the past few years, it is this—every time a new generation emerges, the old guard will talk ceaselessly, if you don’t tell them to shut up, about how things were better in their day. If we follow codger logic, then naturally the best time of all was when the first humans roamed—bearded, beautiful, and gloriously flocculent.

You literally have to do nothing to raise a beard. So go ahead, give it a whirl.

No Shave November Is Complete

Assuming I make it about five more hours, I will have accomplished the feat of not shaving during the entire month of November. The sweet irony of this achievement is that it actually took less effort to do than if I had lived a normal, clean-shaven November.

No Shave November Rages On

I’m exhausted. My body aches. I can’t sleep at night. My beard appears to be sucking the life from my body. It’s growing stronger at the expense of my own strength. When I eat a sandwich, it’s really my beard eating a sandwich. The nutrients bypass my malnourished organs and are instead delivered to my facial hair. This beard has turned my own digestive system against me. I’ll be glad when I can get this thing off my face (that’s what she said).

My Beard Quivers At The Thought Of A World In Which Gingers Are Hated

Gingers. They complain about sunburn in the winter. They reek of potatoes. They never shower. They steal our jobs. They don’t pay taxes. They abuse welfare. They float to this country on makeshift rafts, then live here illegally. They don’t speak English. They live in absolute squalor. Go ahead, drive by a ginger’s house, which is probably actually a shanty built out of wine boxes where nine of them are sharing two bedrooms. There’s a broken washing machine sitting next to the weight bench in the front yard, but you probably didn’t notice that because the rusted-out car sitting on cinder blocks was in the way. And if all that wasn’t enough, they have red hair.

I used to believe all of these stereotypes. Then I grew a beard. It turns out that my body, most notably my head, is a rich tapestry of ethnic diversity. The thick, ropy Scandanavian hair. The boozy, glazed over eyes and contented grin of a German boy who has overstuffed himself yet again on läger and überschnitzel at the local kraut haus. And then, this: the red beard. It turns out the very peoples who I had come to hate had at some point weaseled their way into my family tree, by dubious means I am sure.

Upon discovering red hair growing on my face, I immediately shaved and then cried in the shower for 45 minutes.

That was years ago. I now wear my red beard with only a small amount of shame. I as a person may not like the fact that I am part ginger, but my beard does, and is doing its best to spread awareness within the community that gingers kind of don’t suck. Sure, their bodies can’t produce “skin color,” and they pray for the destruction of the sun, but we’ve all got our quirks.

So, the next time you’re giving the local redhead its daily kidney beating, maybe lay off, and work the liver for a while. And buy it a drink after. My beard will thank you.

Here’s the Blong (Blog Song) of the day. The Isley Brothers – Keep On Doin’.

No Shave November – Two Weeks In

Here we are, two weeks into No Shave November. I think it’s for men’s health awareness or something, but I have no idea what my beard is doing to bring light on that subject. No one has asked me why I haven’t shaved. More than likely people just assume I’m lazy and always look like this. Not shaving is saving me time though – probably 15-20 minutes a week, so I got that goin’ for me. I could use some of that bonus time to make T-shirts for next November that say “Be Aware Of Men’s Health Issues,” because that’s more to the point than growing a beard.