II. The Miracle of the Christmas Hair
Something amazing happened Christmas morning. No it wasn't the birth of Christ, or reindeer on my roof, but an extremely long hair sprouting out of my back. Now, to most people, any back hair is too long, but this is extraordinary. At a little over three inches, this hair's a world record for sure. The whole thing is romantic. Some hair follicle on my back decided to put all he had into three inches before burning out in a ball of glory. This hair is one Porche accident away from being James Dean. All I have to do now is give the hair the legendary status it deserves. So while most people spend their Christmas trying on their new designer clothes, I spent the day showing off my hair.
My words can't describe the miracle, but I think these images do a pretty good job.
Some people experience Christmas miracles that include a new house or cancer-free guts, But this is all I got, and it's all I want. This is my once chance at getting into the book that defined my childhood. I'll be famous! I looked at the Guinness Book of World Records website, and there's the longest leg hair. Back hair should fit right in.
Yes. It's finally happening. Just like my guidance counselor predicted. I'm doing something with my life. As we speak, my application is being processed at Guinness Book of World Records. So while all you fools waste away, I'm on the path to international fame.
If you have any "World Records" or anything close, email me and I'll try to compile a Something Awful Records list. It doesn't have to be anything extraordinary, one time I listened to Ram Jam's song Black Betty fourteen times in a row.
Simply put, if I had Johnny Manziel’s physical gifts, you better believe I would be there in the Weight Room, getting to bed early, doing whatever I had to do to be the best possible athlete I could be. I wouldn't be posting on social media about sucking titties. I wouldn't even look at a titty, buddy. I'd look at a titty and see two big footballs.
A real friend doesn't move until the middle of August, ensuring temperatures in the 90s and a humidity that turns boxers into moist balls of ruined cotton.
Expendable? You must be joking.
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