Watch Me Grow

THE PERFECTIONIST

Style- Diamond cut precision all around.

History- Men of old had no time nor equipment for frivolous trimming of their locks, something about their axes being dulled by the repeated crushing of bone and tendons. Only thanks to recent technological developments (i.e. lasers, sharp wit) has it been possible for The Perfectionist to emerge with Hellenic disgust for anything that doesn't adhere to The Golden Ratio.

Unjustly stigmatized as the words-over-action non-male by many, including myself, The Perfectionist should not be underestimated. Or overestimated. You must calculate him out to 17 decimal places lest you engage the fury of his fists, named Form and Function… guess which strikes first.

Thrill-seeking ladies should proceed with caution, for yes it's true, he only does missionary, but every touch, every undone button is made with pinpoint calculations for maximum pleasure efficiency. He washed his blueprinted sheets from last weekend, already planning your next lip-quivering moment of ecstacy. Often times, foreplay will take hours as he accepts nothing less than a perfect one-thrust multigasm.

Don't expect him to cuddle, however. He floats exactly 25 centimeters above the bed, so as not to have to remake it.

Nicknames- The Accountant, The Hitman, The Model, and “Oh you're so Handsome!… thanks Grandma!”

Ups- Just plain attractive. Nothing says you have your life together like a face that would break a boxer's hand.

Downs- Good luck getting a girl to kiss you anywhere else.

THE UMPIRE!

Style- long hair, Stache of Glory

History-
Although the ladies today often cry foul at this masculicious display of the stiff upper lip, there was a time when rounding the bases was not a clever metaphor but rather the actual requirement to gain a woman's favor. It was in this day, when The Umpire reigned supreme, calling out all the sissy boys, and making every decision final.

The Umpire is the law. Police men know it. Fire fighters know it. And your trashy uncle knows it. The stern, stiff-upper lip immediately silences any group of rabble rousers. Some say the stache is a defense mechanism. What are you hiding? That answer is of course your lips. Because kissies are for sissies.

So before you bash this Tour de Fierce de Face, know that you are merely acting out of fear. Upon a man's first mustache growing, another set of balls descends. Scholars everywhere now believe that having two testicles is a freebie provided by God, who expected us to obtain many more.

Nicknames-
The Gallagher, My Name is Earl, The Outlaw, The Creepy Man Near Your Elementary School.

Ups-
You don't even have to say Fuck You anymore… it's implied.

Downs-
Having to decide which looks better in the wind: free-flowing locks, or stubborn unmoving stache.

Ah yes, it's that time again. Update-opia. I went to a family reunion and had to do a little TRIMMY TRIMMY!

Is it just me or are beards about to be a major sweeping fashion trend? Everywhere I look it seems some new indie band or old rock band from the 70's has a kickin' beard. Before you know it EVERYONE will have one. Oh wait, not all guys can.

THE VILLIAN!

Style- Long Hair, Short beard.

History- The Villian derives its name from about five minutes ago when I needed a name for my current beard status. But I think it fits, and if you disagree, go watch Die Hard again.

Whether it's diabolical schemes against the state or nasty, overly sarcastic quips from the ass on your engineering homework service forum,* this look means business… or engineering.

Is it the twisted locks of hair, splayed in every direction like clawing hands of doomed souls that make this look so devious? Or is it the steel-hardened scruff, grinding off a flash of sparks every time it grazes a bullet or woman's inner thigh? Nevertheless you have been warned.

There is no shaving- ahem- saving you from The Villian. Once in his grasp, you will find yourself strapped oh so desperately (in torn elegance that almost reveals your cooch) to some ridiculously noisy-beeping countdown nuclear warhead. While your shrieks and amazonian tresses distract your stalwart savior into getting clanged over the head with some convenient piece of debris, ultimately he will emerge much-scathed to stop the clock, and give it to you rough.

Maybe there is hope after all.

Nicknames- The Silent Bob, The Poet, The Jesus, The Seriously You Look Like Jesus When Are You Getting A Haircut

Ups- Life is all about the juxtaposition. Wow, I just impressed myself, that sounds like a profound truth if I ever heard one. When things are alike and you make them fit, great. But when opposites such as LONG AND SHORT are combined harmoniously, that's what we call fucking Art, bitch.

Downs- It kinda looks like an accident… or a douchebag.

*You know the guy, he somehow still looks 12 even with that patchy beard of his. It doesn't help that his use of sarcasm is on the same level of a pre-teen who just learned the word “NOT!” If humor is really a defense mechanism, he is that guy at the beach with the sunscreen, coating it on thick so he doesn't get burned. “Geez, I always squirt too much and there's no way to rub it in and make it not blatantly obvious.” Not to mention he ACTUALLY is that guy at the beach. If his long, skanky ponytail that smells like weed, actually was weed, he'd smoke it because he's a dirty, weedy 12 year old who tries to make my awesome villian look gay.

I have facial hair. But I am very fickle about it. Sometimes I go from love to hate within a single day… all depending if my shag is looking gay or my roommates dare me to shave something CRAZY!

That being so, things can get pretty mixed up and hairy about what I currently look like, which you'll need to know if you plan on tracking me down and kidnapping me in your basement. (I love you, real fan).

There are other people who would like to be informed as well:
– Old high school buddies
– exes
– employers
– gay men
– straight women
– straight men who can't explain their crush on me
– old high school enemies
– Food (trying to find out when it will be set free)
– Me

So I present a great new feature on B.O.T.

Watch Me Grow! Status – THE HOBO

Style: long messy hair, long messy beard.

History: This style was first started at the beginning of time. No really, that's how long it took me to grow it. This beard is so long, history doesn't record it, it records history. If you comb through its ranks, there should be no final or midterm you cannot conquer. Unkempt strands of laissez faire economics, wavy timelines through booms and busts of wars and peace times, highlighted streaks that date back to the Enlightenment. Now no historical record is perfect. The Hobo does it's best, but it lacks organization and can be a little fuzzy at times.

A word of caution to females in need of The Hobo: This study tool must be taken advantage of weeks in advance. If you try to pull an all-nighter, you'll fry your brain and wake up drooling on your pillow after sleeping through your test. Don't worry though, you wouldn't have been able to walk anyway.

Nicknames: Grizzly Adams, What Happened to your face?, Party in the front, party in the back, in fact too much partying all-together instead of getting your degree and not being an embarassment to society

The Ups: I mean fucking look at it. It's like your sideburns caught a nice head wind and roared through your youthful green face until it became a smoldering landscape of roiling black curls and auburn locks licking the air. It's a fitting metaphor because you now will have a burn ban and several forest rangers surrounding your tinder-heavy face zone.

The Downs: You look like a hobo. You play with fire, you get burned… by women.