A sad day has arrived and passed. After the sheer awesomeness that was my beard had only begun to reach a glimpse of its potential, it was dessimated at the request of a beautiful young lass: Mrs. Sullivan.
"We had a deal" she said. That was true. We did. The verbal contract was as follows: I kept my horseshoe mustache/fumanchu for approximately 6 months by her request. That was the terms. The consideration: I was to grow the beard from my birthday (6/22) until the Pleasanton games (9/4). My part of the deal was completed, I had the mustache from January until June. Now that I see the dates in number format, it wasn't nearly enough time. I jumpstarted the beard growth in early June so that it was a least presentable on my birthday. I attempted, numerous times, to renegotiate the terms of our contract until the Tucson games (11/6), but alas, there was no reason to be heard, her mind was made.
I am a man. "All I have in this world is my balls and my word, and I don't break them for no one." To my dismay, it was time to shave. Please, a moment of silence.
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| Before the assassination. |
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| After. |
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