Scottish girl and her kooky family move to the States in 1981. Hilarity ensues. She grows up and marries a nice Jewish boy. Hilarity ensues. They adopt two awesome girls from China. Hilarity ensues. She writes a blog. Hilarity ensues?
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Ixnay on the UManchufay
Euan Blair. You may be the hottie boy-band-worthy son of Britain's hottie prime minister, but that does not give you free reign to sport a goatee. As The Haggis has ALWAYS said, "There is not a man alive who looks better with a goatee than he'd look without it."
It's just a rule, people. A rule. A law. An unfungible truth of human existence. Want a beard? Go for it. Want a mustache? Go for it. Want to ride that line between the two? Absolutely not.
My dear friend who shall remain nameless calls it (and I apologize for the shockingly profane nature of the characterization): "a prison p**sy." Now, I don't know much about prison beyond the old newsreels of Elvis doing his Jailhouse Rock and perhaps those episodes of OZ that are so well acted you just have to watch them even though you are losing your lunch in the process; but I have to imagine that any facial hair style that can be classified as a vehicle for same-sex physical violation might compel you to reconsider it.
This is all I'm sayin'. If I see one more guy with a goatee, I'm going to start my counterpart to "Fear The Mullet" and I'll call it "Prison P**sy Panic." Don't make me do it. Go home and shave right now. Yes, Euan, I mean YOU.
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2 comments:
I'm sorry, I didn't hear that. I was too busy growing a beard.
Why not ....
Dick Chinny?
(Or however you spell that guy's name...)
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