IN THE WINTER OF 2016, TWO MEN WERE LOCKED IN A FEROCIOUS BATTLE TO END ALL BATTLES. MR. BAXTER’S BEARD AND MR. ELDRIDGE’S BEARD FACED OFF IN “WHISKER WAR I.”
THE FOLLOWING IS COMMENTARY FROM THE BEARDS IN BATTLE, AS IT ALL UNFOLDED.
B: Whiskers of exceptional thickness, I am, yet still managing a lusciousness that absorbs moisture at an astounding and most impressive rate. According to my calculations, I am the chosen one.
E: Call me Shave Solo. No fruity perfumes, no aftershaves. A solitary beard for a solitary man. I’ve roamed the Galaxy from one end to the other. Challenged the best beards on the best men. And the best beards on the best women. And the best beards on the best bantha.
B: I absorb H2O faster than any porous element, including carbon. After much consideration, I’ve decided to grow myself into a Garibaldi beard. It’s the finest beard shape. It’s the rage with all the girls.
E: Sure Baby Baxter (that’s what I call his little beard) absorbs water. But so do Pampers Extra Dry. I don’t want a wet Diaper hanging off my face, I want manly whiskers like you’d find on Hemingway or Kahlo.
B: The moisture test was an easy victory. It was like “Heaven Kevin,” as he is now calling himself, brought a tissue to a tarp challenge. But suddenly my opponent is terrifying! He’s swinging at his whiskers with what appears to be a lightsaber!
E: Mr. Beardfiglio is now my Mutton Chop Master. He made me give up the blaster for this lightsaber, a more elegant weapon for a more elegant time and the best beard trimmer ever—if it doesn’t cut off your head.
B: Heaven Kevin takes several sharp swings and instantly his beard is PERFECT! He easily wins intimidation and we’re tied 2-2. That life-size 3D statue of me that I made of me as a trophy for me winning Whisker War I must wait. The competition now comes down to beard length.
E: I try to keep my mind focused on the present as my master Mr. Beardfiglio has taught. But it’s impossible. Mr. Beardfiglio will not shut up, and I can’t imagine how he ever became a Mutton Chop Master.
B: As the judges take their final measurements, statistics run through my head and follicles: Moisture reduces the cutting strength of hair by 23%; in one study, women found bearded men 2/3 as attractive as clean-shaven men; and women found me 23 times more attractive than clean-shaven men.
E: I must be mindful of the present. No matter who wins, I shall not be upset. Here come the judges. And the winner is . . . “Baxter!”
B: Kevin’s beard suddenly goes POOF! His red beard explodes and he looks like a Pomeranian Death Star! He has lost his mind. He’s trying to cut my beard! He has turned to the Dark Side!
E: Mr. Beardfiglio tries to calm my rage, but it’s too late. I have lost the beard competition and given into the jealousy and the loathing and hate! I begin the long walk towards the bathroom sink.
B: He is heading toward the bathroom, but he can’t be doing . . . I mean he can’t . . . ! My smile, which was rated #1 smile in Beard Babe magazine, rotates at an angle that is in direct proportion to . . . I am frowning with worry!
E: I reach the sink. I pick up the heavy metal device. I turn it on. The electric blades buzz. I shall remove all hair from my face, effectively killing it, with this Christmas Norelco.
B: Don’t, my friend, it’s never too late for a good beard! Stop!
E: I will use an electric razor forever. From now on, I will never get a truly close shave, never shape a beard properly, never walk into the barbershop with pride. It is too late for me, my friends, but remember . . .
Once you start down the dark path of electric shavers, forever will they dominate your destiny and consume you.
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