Marc
On Not Shaving
I have no reason, at this moment in my life, to shave, with the exception of being in a wedding this weekend, for which I will shave. Shaving, shaving, shaving. What's the point, really? What's it all boil down to? As far as I can tell it's scratching. The less you want to scratch at your face, the more you'll shave. I should make a chart with the average X/Y axis thing. On the left, Scratching, and on the right, Shaving. No big deal. Just a line that goes down as the shaving increases. Right now, I'd say I'm at about a week and a half of not shaving, and I've got this terribly ridiculous looking facial hair thing going on. It goes down the sides of both of my cheeks, and down my neck about halfway, but there's a little canal around my chin, and there's no hair connecting Mustache Island (as I like to call it) to what should be the Goattee (sp?) regions. I know. Ridiculous. I look like a goddamned moron, like I'm lazy (which I am) because I don't ever shave (which I don't).
And why is this? I ask myself.
When I don't have any prospects on the horizon, sex-wise/female-wise/motivation-wise, I don't bother. What's the point? If I have prospects on the horizon, I'm a totally different person. I chew gum after eating. I tie my shoes and make sure that the clothes I'm wearing aren't wrinkled and, most importantly, I shave. But, without that one, I'm a hopelessly lost, disheveled looking little boy. Having a job has almost the exact same consequences ***1***.
If you want to look at something funny, go here, and watch the "Brief History of the United States" clip. I love making fun of white people ***2***.
***1*** and can I say, at this point, that I've sneezed about fifteen times in a row now, and every time I sneeze my fingers move ever-so-slightly on the keyboard and instead of hitting a "q", say, I end up hitting the "TAB" button instead, and it's making for very frustrating writing, so I think I should end it here and crawl into bed with my new copy of The Rolling Stone, and call it a night. I mean, I've only got five hours and fifty minutes before my next class.
***2*** especially cause I'm white. You should see this hilarious impression I do of a black comedian making fun of a white person, which ends up being a white person making fun of a black person making fun of a white person. It's nefarious, I tells ya'.
On Not Shaving
I have no reason, at this moment in my life, to shave, with the exception of being in a wedding this weekend, for which I will shave. Shaving, shaving, shaving. What's the point, really? What's it all boil down to? As far as I can tell it's scratching. The less you want to scratch at your face, the more you'll shave. I should make a chart with the average X/Y axis thing. On the left, Scratching, and on the right, Shaving. No big deal. Just a line that goes down as the shaving increases. Right now, I'd say I'm at about a week and a half of not shaving, and I've got this terribly ridiculous looking facial hair thing going on. It goes down the sides of both of my cheeks, and down my neck about halfway, but there's a little canal around my chin, and there's no hair connecting Mustache Island (as I like to call it) to what should be the Goattee (sp?) regions. I know. Ridiculous. I look like a goddamned moron, like I'm lazy (which I am) because I don't ever shave (which I don't).
And why is this? I ask myself.
When I don't have any prospects on the horizon, sex-wise/female-wise/motivation-wise, I don't bother. What's the point? If I have prospects on the horizon, I'm a totally different person. I chew gum after eating. I tie my shoes and make sure that the clothes I'm wearing aren't wrinkled and, most importantly, I shave. But, without that one, I'm a hopelessly lost, disheveled looking little boy. Having a job has almost the exact same consequences ***1***.
If you want to look at something funny, go here, and watch the "Brief History of the United States" clip. I love making fun of white people ***2***.
***1*** and can I say, at this point, that I've sneezed about fifteen times in a row now, and every time I sneeze my fingers move ever-so-slightly on the keyboard and instead of hitting a "q", say, I end up hitting the "TAB" button instead, and it's making for very frustrating writing, so I think I should end it here and crawl into bed with my new copy of The Rolling Stone, and call it a night. I mean, I've only got five hours and fifty minutes before my next class.
***2*** especially cause I'm white. You should see this hilarious impression I do of a black comedian making fun of a white person, which ends up being a white person making fun of a black person making fun of a white person. It's nefarious, I tells ya'.
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