Hello fellow ranters. Firstly, I must stress that this rant is being written in a particularly mind-fuckingly-annoying-gappy-shit-muncher-hostel in Bolivia, so perhaps my perception of the world around me is particularly warped right now. Nevertheless, the fact remains: just because you dick around the world does not mean you have to grow some disease-ridden joke of a facial-hair-stain on your ra-ra, meathead, Quagmire-esque chin.
Don't get me wrong, I have nothing against beards. Some of the world's finest have sported the face-rug:
1) Dumbledore.
2) Your Mum.
3) David Bellamy.
4) Annie Jones.
Some of my closest friends have beards. I am not anti-beard. I have even allowed myself to grow a fairly decent face-covering from time-to-time. But amongst the travelling folk of South America in 2009 it is verging on the epidemic. Why the necessity? Why do people feel that as soon as they leave the confines of Britain that they should instantly commence the cultivation of little wispy bits? It is probably a mindless attempt to identify themselves as a traveller. The beard completes the look: the jumper emblazoned with a llama, the rainbow-patchwork pyjama bottoms, the beads around the neck. It is not needed you fucking sheep. Everyone knows you are travelling. You stick out like a sore thumb in Bolivia and Peru. You are white for fuck's sake, and the locals are not! They also like to sport little bowler hats and carry around llamas or babies.
There is no chance of you being mistaken for a local peasant, if that is what you are so worried about you twat.
Sorry, my outburst may seem a little rash. Indeed, I don't blame you Mr Travelling Douche-Face. I too have fallen foul to the pressure! The horrible, just horrible pressure which you have experienced from your far less hirsute friends. You know the type: the ones who didn't have pubic hairs until they were 19, and only need to shave once a month. The kind of chap who says the following phrase: "Oh yeah, you should blatantly grow a beard! I defo would if I could, but I can't". To be perfectly honest, when it comes down to it I like to be clean shaven. I relish the fact that after I have given myself the twice over with my trusty Mach 3, that my face is smoother than your girlfriend's bottom. So please do not try to egg me on, and advise me to grow a moustache. Sure, if i do grow some kind of upper-lip extravaganza, I will start to look like a winning combination of my own father and Freddie Mercury.
But I would prefer to not blend into the mass of dickweeds who surround me everyday. Let me stay nice and smooth, or i may be forced to find another use for my razor and slit your throat. Thank you. Jack Collins
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