Lately i’ve been attempting to increase my masculinity rating by spawning a beard upon my face. This attempt so far has seemed futile as my face seems to be rejecting my request by making my facial hair as socially unacceptable as humanly possible. You know that scene in Jackass where they glue the pubes onto that guys face? Well. So far. I am the facial hair equivalent of that scenario. But less lushious with pubes, and more patchy with genuine facial hair, but still resembling pubes. I’m just living in hope that my face will one day accept that i am a man, and make me manly as fuck. Women will crowd around, in awe at my pefect figure of facial hair. Getting constant strokes of my beard from passers by. People will be ask “How did you grow such a fine beard?”and i will let the beard do the talking. Possibly in Spanish. My beard will speak Spanish.
Unfortunately this fantasy will never occur. But a man can always dream.
I’m sure you’re wondering why i’m so fascinated by beards. Well the god honest truth is, i have no idea. I’m pretty sure that i believe i’ll become funnier if i grow a beard. People with beards appear much funnier (especially women). Like Zach Galafianakis. If he didn’t have a beard i’m pretty sure no one would find him hilarious. Peter Kay also (although he seems a bit worn down now). With great beard, comes great humour.
So far the progress on my beard is pathetic. It grows really beard-ey at the sides and on the chin bit, but there’s a big gap in between. An empty cavern of empty face. Waiting for it’s true beard love to be born. I like to tell people it’s styled that way, which i find hilarious. But the truth is, my manliness centre just despises me. I’m like a Kinder Egg, but without the beard filled toy inside. All i have is the shitty chocolate fuzz around the outside.
The only thing i am scared of, is if i spend years cultivating a beautiful beard, sculpting it into a piece of artwork, only to find that i don’t suit a beard, even slightly. This horror has kept me up many a night. Tossing and turning in my dreams. Trapped in nightmares in which beards turn their backs on me in shame, and spit on my unsuitable, beardless face.
In a perfect world i would have the beard of a god, and Sophie Ellis Bexter would be my personal beard maintainer. Not because she is attractive, or nice, or even a half decent human being. But because i know it would annoy her. And especially her husband, who is the singer of the band “The Feeling”. The bastard.