EvilMister Takes a Bullet
I started a new gig today, working in a spice distribution facility. This place has the tolerance of a Fort Knox when it comes to contaminants and shit like that. (What I wanna know if the place I work at is like this, why do we have an acceptable percentage of rat droppings and shit in our food?) Needless to say, this involves the wearing of a blue jumpsuit (one size too small), and a hairnet (which I still feel like I'm wearing, even though it's been over an hour and half).
I have a goatee/mutton (I don't look anything like the crazy mofos here, but take a look anyway) chop thing growing on my face, of which I am immensely proud. Those who know me will agree that my facial hair stylings border on the obsessive, involving a lot of careful trimming and thought on style. It changes from month to month, sometimes week by week, because a side effect of my evil powers is that the hair on my face grows like Killer Kudzu. I turn around and I have a full beard. It's neat-o.
I have two choices. I can either shave it off or wear a goofy beard-net. Normally, I'd opt for the beard net, but I gotta tell ya, after eight hours of a net on my head, I think I'd last all of fifteen seconds with one of those fucking things on my face. It'd drive me fucking apeshit and I'd drop one of the people I work with into one of the massively gigantic spice mixer things if they got on my wrong side.
There are also two reasons why I grow my beard. One is because I can, and I think it's neat-o. I amuse myself with the various shapes and styles I can carve into my face (so far the most interesting one was a spider crawling up my neck to engulf my face). The other is age. Not in the way you might think, though. People already think I am much younger than my actual years, and this is with the beard adding on a couple. I already act like a sex-starved 15 year old computer geek, and with a smooth shaved face, I suspect that I will look like one. It's hard enough getting people to take me serious as it is. Plus, a motherfucker's goatee is as precious to him as hair is to a woman; I've seen any number of women go into histrionics when their hair stylist goes a different direction with their style. I feel naked without my scruff. It's like Samson and his locks. Shave me bald, and all of a sudden, I lose the power to make people cower in their shoes and booties.
So tonight, before I lay my head down to dream the wicked dreams, your pal EvilMister will indeed take his trusty Mach 3 +12 vorpal slayer to his face and willingly render himself less terrible so he can continue to make money. (Being evil alone doesn't pay the bills. You'd be surprised how uncompromising Telus can be, even when threatend with a thousand years of terror and nightmares. I am evil, but even I can't win against bureaucracy.)
If I was in the Mafia or the Yakuza, I wouldn't have to put up with this shit.
I have a goatee/mutton (I don't look anything like the crazy mofos here, but take a look anyway) chop thing growing on my face, of which I am immensely proud. Those who know me will agree that my facial hair stylings border on the obsessive, involving a lot of careful trimming and thought on style. It changes from month to month, sometimes week by week, because a side effect of my evil powers is that the hair on my face grows like Killer Kudzu. I turn around and I have a full beard. It's neat-o.
I have two choices. I can either shave it off or wear a goofy beard-net. Normally, I'd opt for the beard net, but I gotta tell ya, after eight hours of a net on my head, I think I'd last all of fifteen seconds with one of those fucking things on my face. It'd drive me fucking apeshit and I'd drop one of the people I work with into one of the massively gigantic spice mixer things if they got on my wrong side.
There are also two reasons why I grow my beard. One is because I can, and I think it's neat-o. I amuse myself with the various shapes and styles I can carve into my face (so far the most interesting one was a spider crawling up my neck to engulf my face). The other is age. Not in the way you might think, though. People already think I am much younger than my actual years, and this is with the beard adding on a couple. I already act like a sex-starved 15 year old computer geek, and with a smooth shaved face, I suspect that I will look like one. It's hard enough getting people to take me serious as it is. Plus, a motherfucker's goatee is as precious to him as hair is to a woman; I've seen any number of women go into histrionics when their hair stylist goes a different direction with their style. I feel naked without my scruff. It's like Samson and his locks. Shave me bald, and all of a sudden, I lose the power to make people cower in their shoes and booties.
So tonight, before I lay my head down to dream the wicked dreams, your pal EvilMister will indeed take his trusty Mach 3 +12 vorpal slayer to his face and willingly render himself less terrible so he can continue to make money. (Being evil alone doesn't pay the bills. You'd be surprised how uncompromising Telus can be, even when threatend with a thousand years of terror and nightmares. I am evil, but even I can't win against bureaucracy.)
If I was in the Mafia or the Yakuza, I wouldn't have to put up with this shit.
posted by Unknown @ 4:46 PM
1 Comments:
I'm a sucker for advertisements so i tried the schick quattro because well......four fucin' blades man. it handles like shaving with a brick. too heavy and cumbersome. it lacks the understated elegance of the mach 3.
-e
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