What Your Danky-Ass Nasty Beard Says About You

Here is a rather scathing review of beards because you woke up today and thought you wanted some random chick on the internet to judge your facial hair aesthetic in a mean-spirited, blithe tone. No really, though, you clicked on the link, were you expecting anything less than cultural stereotypes extracted from vain signifiers and loose observations about people from Brooklyn and probably Portland? Well, that’s on you then!

You brew beer in your closet and wonder why you aren’t getting a ton of pussy. You recently gained weight and don’t want anyone to notice your chipmunk cheeks are expanding at the same rate you eat pizza bagels and drink Sugar-Free Red Bull (It’s good for you!). People do not notice the increase of lipids on your face, but they notice the new beer belly popping out of that flannel button down that is now two sizes too small. You only get new clothes on Christmas because your mom buys them for you then, so your on-again, off-again slam piece Sarah is just going to have to get used to the new you. You are who you are, and you kinda smell like piss (You shower when you feel like it, God!) but your music blog is aight and you’re the only one with GTA 5, so people still have to hang out with you, I guess. One day you’ll think you’re being Catfished then you’ll realize all along the Catfish was YOU. 

You’re some kind of bootleg artist and when you show people your work they’re like, “That looks cool,” because they don’t actually get it. Yeah, but that’s the thing, right? No one “gets you.” Sure gay dudes hit on you all the time, and who are you to not be flattered? Still, you’re looking for Mrs. Right behind that perfectly waxed stache. While most women say, “Ew, OMG!” when they see you, after a few glasses of Boone’s Farm at so-and-so’s boring rooftop party, the panties will come off because in a drunken stupor they’ve mistaken your popular Tumblr posts for “art.” And they think you are “sensitive,” when really you are boring. Come the morning after, your not-so-boo-to-be realizes you are just a guy who utilizes most of his artistic talents and creative energy into crafting a perfectly creepy beard. You are superficial but not conventional, so instead of developing character and personality, you got a stupid beard.

You are a woodland nymph.

You are Santa Claus.

You are a drunk, mall Santa Claus.

You were just cast in the fourth season of Game of Thrones. Congratulations!

You drove a muscle car in the ’70s and make a living as a bounty hunter in the South. Or you’re a 20-year-old college fuckhead who just saw Dazed and Confused for the first time. You wish you could go back to a time when people were making real ROCK music like Zeppelin instead of all this “indie folk shit.” If these indie bands are so good, then why are they on the Twilight soundtrack? I don’t know, man, but that’s no excuse to be wearing sunglasses indoors after 11PM.

You’re Charlie Chaplin.

You’re Adolf Hitler.

You’re Charlie Chaplin portraying Adolf Hitler in a hilarious, slapstick comedy.

You’re Adolf Hitler going to a Halloween party as Charlie Chaplin.

You’re in a weird play and although you’ve invited all of your Facebook friends, only two of them show up to the 4-hour modern retelling of King Lear to your dread and dismay because you know this play sucks and you only have three lines in it and it costs $20. Oh well, who takes Facebook invites seriously anyway?

You are Kevin from the Backstreet Boys in which case, hey, Kev!  OR: You haven’t exactly transitioned out of the late nineties. You think we live in a “nanny state” and the “liberal media” has “feminized” culture by making conservatives look bad with their “gotcha” journalism. Despite your right leaning politics, you have a full sleeve of tattoos and you don’t like “sluts.” You’re a “nice” guy but you have a temper. You’ve never been in a fight, but when you get into heated arguments at bars, you insist others “hold you back” before you “lay this bitch ass out.”

You say you’re a DJ, but you work a desk job. You’re not superficial per se, but you can’t help notice you look a little extra steezy when your facial hair starts coming in. Unfortunately, you’re a serial procrastinator, so that sweet, sweet spot when you’re looking fresh to death ’cause that tiny bit of facial hair was coming in goes away with the quickness because you are too lazy to shave. After a few weeks, you’re looking like that woodland creature pictured above and then, well, it’s almost November, may as well keep the beard until the end of Movember. Oh, well, it’s December may as well earn a little extra cash as a mall santa. But you hate kids and your drinking gets worse. You spiral out of control and just six months after you were looking sick as c-c-cancer, you’re eating rotten kale out of dumpsters and asking people for change in front of the dollar pizza shop. “Is that you Jim?” One of your former friends asks as you drink the backwash out of a 40 oz you found in the trash. Suddenly, you flashback to the time you could’ve, almost, if you really wanted to have boned Lindsay Lohan after you spun that awesome set at Club Whatever-The-Fuck.

“Yeah, it’s me Jim!” You say, but your friends have already walked away.

[Images Via. Shutter Stock]

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