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I have a problem: I have a very unhealthy attraction to facial hair to the point where my heart begins to pound and I sweat bullets when seeing a beard, the bigger the hotter for me. But then when I see the guy's face, it just kills the mood. That's fine for some people, but I likes my ladies. Unfortunately, women with hair is very scarce, especially in this chauvinist guyanocracy. I've tried dating Italians and Persian women, but it's never thick or lustrous enough to sate my urges, and I always wind up asking them to put on fake beards so I can go about my business. It usually puts them off the mood though.
For a long time, I was lost, spending too many hours by myself locked in the bathroom looking longingly at boxes of Just For Men with Victoria's Secret models' faces pasted on top of the guys. It was starting to bore me when I came up with a brilliant idea. The bearded lady at the circus.
The idea came upon my mind as suddenly as a winter storm while I was eating at a Burger King, exciting me so much I couldn't stand up for at least an hour unless someone saw just how excited I was. So last week, I visited the circus that came to town and to my inexpressible joy, there she was on a poster, the bearded lady in all of her hairy glory. Freak show, ha! A misnomer if I ever heard one--at least for her, some of the others like the Tiny Man were just weird. So I watched her as she show cased that magnificent beard, feeling the lust--and love--burn in me like a hot coal. I waited until after the show, a bouquet of a dozen red roses clutched in my sweaty hand, and I approached her, smelling sweetly of Ralph Lauren cologne. After some flattering comments and pleasantries, I finally asked if she would do me the honor of getting consomme and a dry, red Pinot Noir with me at the finest French restaurant in town. She smiled at me then, my heart soaring like an eagle, but then it dropped, striking the ground with the force of a meteorite when I heard her answer, a very sorrowful no. Apparently, she was already dating the World's Strongest Man, some chump in a leopard skin leotard but also having the world's most sensuous handlebar mustache, so I really can't blame her.
I went home defeated, savoring the bitter taste of my own heart after eating it so suddenly. To get myself to sleep, I revisited my bearded Just For Men Victoria's Secret models and went to sleep, a wad of used Kleenex clutched in one hand.
O bearded lady of my dreams, are you there, somewhere?
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One day me and my granpappy were goin' fishin' down by the crik. I slipped and fell on a rock, skinning my knee and my granpappy leaned in real close and asked: "Is the rock okay?"
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