Thursday, January 27, 2011

The Repository for Retired Literature

Let us not forget that I am a manly bearded man. Good. Now that that's out of the way I have quite the paradoxical tale to weave, or a yarn to tell:

As I was walking an earlier length of time ago in the brisk mixture of oxygen, nitrogen, methane, and carbon dioxide, the sweet aroma of an aged papery substance lodged itself in my nasal cavity. I turned my head in such a manner that I might find the source of this scent and discovered immediately to my starboard side an antique bookstore. My inquiring mind and emptiness of schedule led me inside to a world of bound publications and potentially liquid beans from South America.

I approached the front workspace and appealed to see the books about beards and/or Manthropolgy and/and/in addition to/or manly topics in general. The employee of the female persuasion looked confused when I mentioned Manthropology. No doubt she is highly uneducated (though it goes without saying that she was marvelously charmed by me). Regardless, she showed me the only book in the store dealing with beards.

As she walked away, I drew the book from the shelf. It was a paperback simply entitled One Thousand Beards by Allan Peterkin. All of the happiness (though none of the attractiveness) ran away from my face. The cover depicted eight men in a montage reminiscent of The Brady Bunch. However, the horror came not from making me recall such an abomination of American televised comedy, but rather the fact that only one of these men wore a beard!

I stood flabbergasted by the image I beheld for a significant length of time. I thought beneath my beard, How could this Allan Peterkin think that this is justifiable? He must be punished by the sheer power of all bearded men!


My inner discourse (not to be confused with my inner thighs) was suddenly interrupted by another bookstore jockey inquiring if I required assistance. I stared at him for a few seconds, my speaking orifice agape. When I realized what he had said, I began vociferating at an elevated volume (I shall not disclose the exact volume because I rarely keep track of such things). I held before his peach-fuzz mustachioed face this travesty of a book and told him to incinerate it. When he informed me of his bondage to the proprietors of the store I proceeded to smear the nefarious receptacle of lies with the dandruff off of the scalp of the bookstore jockey. It deserved far more destruction than that, however. But since I am a sophisticated bearded manly man and deplore the destruction of literature (even untruths) I simply left it sprinkled with the dead skin of this less than manly man's cranium.

A short length of time later the town constable knocked on my front entryway. As I lowered the bridge over the alligator-ridden moat surrounding my estate, he approached and informed me that I was being charged with a salt. I'm not sure what this means, but I must ponder its implications upon my life.

As I sit at home, awaiting my ever-approaching court date, I have only this to say: I will go before that jury and tell them my anecdote which I have here related and I am certain that they will see me to be in the right.

Good night (or morning or afternoon or whenever you happen to be reading this) unto you all. This has been Manly Beard Man and I have to find a barrister.

-MANLY BEARD MAN

P.S. - I realize that some of my readers may be pondering things of their own. Such things may include: "Am I manly?" Well the answer to that depends upon the consideration of considerable variables. "Am I as manly as Manly Beard Man?" No. "How do I grow an outstanding beard?" Be a man (a real one).

As I understand that you may have questions please feel free to comment on my posts or visit my new Facebook page. I would also encourage you to become a follower so you may stay up-to-date of everything manly that happens.



Post Script: For those of you yet conjecturing in what way my misadventure was paradoxical, it wasn't.

Post Post Script: Yes, it was.

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