Well, here it is -- day sixteen of the beard. I'm enjoying it more than I thought; it adds a lot of grey, but I rather enjoy that.
Monday, March 19, 2007
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Undecided. Wayward poet fails self-actualisation test. A case can be built to support. Nothing.
4 comments:
I am reminded of one of the insults I threw at my stubbly dad. We have that sort of relationship.
"You can't grow a beard on EITHER of your chins!"
Ho ho, I kill me, I really do. But your face fungus is most poetic. I think you should aim for somewhere between jail escapee and inbred ringmaster.
A handlebar moustache a la Victorian pervert would set it off marvellously!
What would I do without you, nich? You're the cardamom in my froot loops.
Love the stubble, Rob. Are you going to keep it with that Colin Farrell-eqsue look, or are you aiming for more of a Grizzly Adams kind of thing?
:::smooch:::
You're on your way to lookin' like a True Alaskan -- Hope you wander "Inside" soon! Laughter, Splotch
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