When a Mirror Says Hello

Haven't shaved in days. It's a nice layer of stubble though - looks good. I feel like Clooney on a bad day, which is still pretty awesome. The salt and pepper would be nice too... as would the charm.

I've got it. I just need a haircut.

Actually, maybe just a hat, at least until it gets cut. That works. But now there's that annoying little flip that makes it look like a mullet. That doesn't work.

Well shit.

There are a couple options here. I could a.) throw a cursing tirade over something that's really a very small problem, b.) suck it up and look like a crudely afro-headed white kid, c.) drink a beer and commiserate with anybody desperate for a conversation, d.) write some pointless entry in my sparse, pretentious blog that nobody reads, e.) all of the above.

I'll write in on this ballot:

f.) Fuck

That's a good answer. Perfect. Lovely. Exact. Forthright.

If I could be half as honest with myself as the word "fuck" is with itself, I'd be pretty well off.

Living the high life as a bona fide renaissance man.

Because that's what I am and strive to be: a renaissance man with a chip on his shoulder that happens at this point to be a Pringle.

Let's all gather round now and laud. Yes, lots and lots of lauding. Here, I'll make it easy and move to the center... just a second... ah! yes! a grandiose effluvia of sputtering praise; let it rain down upon me for glorifying the utter reproach with which I approach the current bout with myself.

Is anyone keeping score?

No?

f.) Fuck

That's who's winning. Because he's still philandering around making everybody who uses him happy in some way.

What a piss ant.