Wednesday, October 6, 2010

The Broken Beard

It's gone.  So sad.
Not only did I write the most depressing poem of my career today, I also had to shave.
I can see my face.  I look like a baby and it's SO COLD!
As promised, here are the final stages:

"L'artiste Fou" (That's not a Snuggie.  It's a towel.  Much more classy.)

"The Good Old Boy"

"The Naked" (Ok, ok, I was wearing flip-flops)

It was a good run and I'm not sad it's over; I'm happy it happened.  But there's one especially beautiful thing about facial hair:  when you wake up in the morning, it's always there.  And that's all you really need.



b-rad said...

I've started a candlelight vigil. The facial rug will be missed. It's a good thing you have these pictures and that the memory will be immortalized through the power of the camera.

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