So, there's been quite a bit of talk lately about my poor showing in the beard contest. Yes, sadly the photograph below exhibits all that a month has gotten me. (Although, I am growing a pretty dastardly mustache. If I let it grow out, I believe I'd look like Snidely Whiplash. )
So rather than attempt to convince the judges of the, admittedly few, merits of my beard, I will simply bring forth evidence of precisely what I'm up against. This is an inherently biological contest, and I believe a distinct genetic handicap should be taken into account when judging the participants. Behold:Yep, this enthusiastic lad with the cherubic visage is many things, none of them a natural beard grower. Those sweet, pink cheeks are ready to be stuffed full of fudge, not sprout the manly bristles native to the faces of so many outdoorsy types, metal guitarists, and homeless gentleman. It's a wonder I've come as far as I have. And for that, I deserve something.