My Views On My Facial Hair Are Conflicted

Fashion Sense: Okay, I'm serious now. You need to shave the facial hair or at least trim it up, for God's sake.

Me: I kinda like it. It makes me look rugged.

Fashion Sense: No. It doesn't. "Rugged" generally means "Hey, I've been too busy cutting down trees to bother with shaving". You are not rugged. You are more "Hey, I've been too busy drinking and playing with myself to realize that I look like a Muppet." Not rugged.

Me: Oh, it's not that bad.

Fashion Sense: Yes. It is. You have officially graduated from "adorably scruffy, kind of like a secluded author" to "potential sexual predator, hide your kids".

Me: Don't be hyperbolic.

Fashion Sense: I'm NOT. That's the thing! You look as if you might mug a soccer mom and drag her into a dark alley one night as she walks home from Kroger because it was such a nice night.

Me: Right.

Fashion Sense: You look as if you have the capability of both planning and executing the sodomization of a toddler.

Me: Oh that's nice.

Fashion Sense: You look like a mountain man fucked a bear with mange!

Me: Alright, that's enough.

Ego: THAT is the one that pushed you over the edge? THAT one was too far? Really?

Budding Alcoholism: Phwaw! What the hell is that? It's like Newcastle mixed with heavy syrup.

Me: Dude, you have to let that beer chill for a while.

Budding Alcoholism: But I want it now.

Me: I know. Patience.

Patience: No!

Me: Ugh. I don't want to talk anymore. Stupid body betraying me.

Ego: But...

Me: No. I'm done. Where's that beer?