So check it, your moms all insisted that I grow a beard (they called it a "tickler"). I wanted to try out a few different tickle settings, so here's what I came up with:
The Law(lessness)- untrimmed, rugged. It brings the tickling all at once.
The Rush to the Front: Sweeping from the chops to the chin, all roads lead to tickling.
The Piro(ue)tte- it's lithe yet strong, fanciful yet assertive...it dances all over your mom.
The Momstorm- If it's drunk (and it often is) and hears you say "soul patch," the only tickling will be its boot tickling your cornhole, buddy. It suggests you get back on that riceburner and ride away before things get ugly.
All in good fun. Oh yeah, anyone who makes fun of me will immediately be assumed to be too weak to control their own jealousy.
4 comments:
what's the name for your pompadour?
None of the douchebags I've dated have come back to haunt me.
It must be nice to be done with finals,...what I wouldn't give to have the time, to look completely preposterous.
I've called it Sean: not only for its pompadosity, but for its predilection for disappearing in the morning before anybody sees it or can prove that it fathered anything. (PS- attacking my hair does not hide the jealousy)
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