Monday, March 4, 2013


Recently, people have been asking me about the scars on my face. Okay, it was only one person and he was not really concerned. He was just trying to make small talk. Every polite conversation should start with the question of how a person got the scars around their eyes. I could tell the truth but that is so boring and where is the fun in that?

I prefer to reuse some of the classic lines from "Jonah Hex."

"Cut myself shaving."

"My razor slipped."

One, whenever Jonah said that, people started sweating since he had an impressive body count. I don't (but I do need to set some life goals) so no one breaks out in a cold sweat when I walk by. Or maybe they do. Who knows.

Two, my face is not as messed up as his but there is always room for improvement.

My mirror broke itself so I would stop looking at it.

This is a picture of me with Margie V. Cox. She looks fantastic as She-Hulk. I, on the other hand, look like Cletus the slack jawed yokel's dumber brother.This is why I stopped getting pictures with me in them. Or, at least, I reduced the number and no longer post these pictures. My family does not even have pictures of me. This is why.

Another reason I no longer get pictures with me is that cameras run away from me, yipping. Yep, even cameras are scared of me. My family is so proud.

People also ask why I don't smile. I respond with "I am smiling." That scares a lot of people (more than it should). Sometimes I tell people to do a handstand and then they will see that I actually am smiling. They are not amused by this either.

Brandy G. said I have a very inexpressive face. She is correct. I have worked on this for years, mastering the art of expressing no emotion with my face. I have become proficient at Dead Eyes Fu. It is a rarely utilized form of facial combat.

This is also why I wear long pants no matter how hot it is. I do this to save people from having to see my pasty, scarred legs. People say I am so pale that I am a new shade of white. Yes, I can scratch having a color named after me off my bucket list.

People keep looking at my face and I compare this to seeing a car accident. You want to look away but it is so horrible that you just can't. It is also why employers give me a paper bag whenever I go into work.

"Hey, Al, before you go onto the main floor, cover yourself with this." It only hurts the first 378 times they say it.

People say I should/could get surgery but I just shrug. What, and give up scaring children and women away? What kind of life would that be?

That is a rhetorical question.

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