My Beard

I want a beard. Pretty damn badly.......Alright I need one, it's not a joke anymore. While the prospect of growing a beard is a romantic one, the process has been all but what I've expected. I've found that growing a beard is like making a bunch of new friends without really knowing anything about them just because you're lonely. Just having them at first is great...but after a month you start to realize that having hobbies ending with"Philia" isn't that normal and that Jerry(Your personal favorite) is a rose lacquered coffee table. Within the first few days my facial hair is respectable. I even get compliments, which in no way is due to my application of subtle makeup arrows on my cheeks to draw attention to my face. Outside of subliminal attempts to be accepted, I figured there must be some easy way to grow a beard. So I observed people who have beards, and after producing multiple charts filled with numbers and lines I came to a pretty decisive conclusion. You have to be a douche bag. After submitting and receiving rejection letters from multiple scientific journals I began my revolutionary experiment. I started calling my friends and asking what they were doing, and than cutting them off and saying "Fuck that bro! let's play some bp". I would savor the resulting silence until I again shattered it with a "Fuck yeah" before hanging up. I started making terribly awkward race jokes in front of people and then supplementing them with "it's funny because it's true" and lastly I aggressively defending Dave Matthews band and took off my shirt a good five minutes before starting a fight. This as an added bonus let everyone see my tribal arm band tat, and my misspelled Chinese lettering of "power". So after multiple benders and my short stint of working atAbercrombie and Fitch I decided to check if my follicle growing power had increased. I looked in my mirror to discover the horror that had beset my face. Reflected off my generic gold chain necklace was no great plumage of hair but my scrawny chin. I wept for hours, and I suppose in a gesture of false hope called up my friend and made fun of him for being a pussy because I saw him cry last week. Plus he was wearing sneakers to his own grandmas funeral, how trashy is that? Anyway these results destroyed my hypothesis and left me clamoring for other scientific words to use along with a dictionary with which to reclaim my vocabulary. All of this is just too much to take in. Speaking of which I drank about 30 celebratory natty ices to commemorate the end of the experiment,and I can't feel my legs.