Day 5: Didn't have to use my AK...

I bought an AK-47 yesterday. Now I just have to paint the orange tip black. It's gonna make a great accessory to the beard. I can carry it around and pretend I've been lost in a jungle for decades. A lone guerrilla soldier wearing a sweat drenched bandanna.
This morning I picked up my comic pull, had lunch (consisting of a steak burrito and Spaten lager), bought a video game, and rented a suit. Renting a suit is unusual. It creates the feeling of costume. Maybe I should have rented an Easter Bunny suit. What I got matches the beard which gives the impression that I've had my charcoal outline smeared. Just enough stubble to make my face look dirty. I carried the suit 2 blocks as a sea of blue surrounded me. The Dodger game ended. I smile, drop off the suit, and get the dog (Stella). More smiles. As I venture into the park, my mind is at rest. Happiness is measured in Beards.

Day 4: The Secret

The morning rays reflect off the dented gas tank of my blue 2000 SL1 Saturn. According to Oprah and "The Secret" worshipers I brought this on myself. My negative thoughts caused a reckless driver to run into my parked car. *I know this cause "the beard" knows this. Oprah's a cow and "The Secret" is babies blood. A pint a day and you can have whatever you want. You just have to ask. "I want my beard to emasculate Castro". That's right Castro, the revolution will be televised and it's on my face. Hide your beard in shame old man. "The Secret" is a fraction of a centimeter and itches across my face. An itch that holds up a paralyzed smile from the future. In the present, it's off to work I go in my dented chariot. Back up kids make room for the BEARD!

*Yeah, it's a "Fight Club" reference. Congrats Babyface! Now pat yourself on the back.

Day 3: Good Morning! Good Morning! Good Morning!

I wake up with my head keeping time to my cats meows. She's hungry. She's always hungry. She's the fat girl obsessed with attention. Gotta feed her so she will leave me alone. I drag myself into the kitchen and pour her a bowl. On my coffee table is an unopened pint of Jim Beam. Thank God its unopened. I rub my chin and the hangover dissolves. Stubble. I can feel stubble. This is my Hawaiian sunrise. It's here. My beard kitten. My beard puppy. My baby beard. I can't wait to protect it and watch it grow. This is my soul emerging. The beer, the whiskey, the Jager were all last nights fertilizer for this mornings growth. No regrets. Now I can face the day. I have courage. I am moving forward into the sunlight.

Day 2: Lunchtime

Returning from lunch, I can see it in the nameless faces of people I pass. Downtown, where businessman and homeless mingle, all eyes are on me. They know. They can see it. The void of its origin draws attention to itself like an empty lot between two skyscrapers. Give it time its prime real estate. The potential is on my face. They can see it. They fear it. My mighty beard.

Day 1: In the beginning...

Like any other morning I woke up, showered, brushed my teeth, and shaved. However, this morning is different since it will be the last time I use my razor. It will be the last time I shave. The silky smooth expanse that is called "my face" will be replaced by a great garden from which a mighty ginger beard will emerge. This will be no ordinary beard, oh no, this will be a beard of legend. No longer will people say, "By Odin's beard!" Odin will be replaced with Will, Bill, or William. Over the next few weeks the word, "Beard" will take on a new meaning. It will be I who gives it definition and I will hold this definition below my nose and firmly between two ears. This I vow. These are my chronicles. Join me.