My Year in Running

Now, I realize that the details of my personal grooming habits (such as they are) may not be the most hilarity-coated infotainment morsel you encounter today, but I am desperate to write about something that does not involve Federal employees doing things of which I disapprove. So here you go.

I'd been growing my beard for a few days, meaning it was approximately down to my belt. I was ruminating this morning, and as I often do when I ruminate, I was stroking my chin in that "it's possible that I've got something really interesting to think about" way. And as I was chin stroking, it dawned on me that something was not right in the chinly area. A thorn, burr, or other pointy object was causing my thumb discomfort as it glided across my otherwise silky soft sub-mouthal area. Eureka. I dashed to She Who Must Be Obeyed's illuminated magnifying mirror, and sure enough, it was a Kong Follicle.

I lunged for a tweezers. The tweezers, primarily accustomed to removing my spouse's downy eyebrow hairs, may have felt fear at the prospect of tackling a burly man Kong Follicle. Too bad, girly tweezers. I isolated the Kilo Foxtrot, gwasped it wuffwy, and yanked the beetch out. Kong Follicles, at least my Kong Follicles, don't put up much of a fight. They just glide out. Doesn't even hurt. But then here's the creepy part. Kong Follicles are easily the equivalent diameter of three or four regular beard hairs combined. And they're long. Like three quarters of their length dwells underneath the skin. Do they reach the whole way to the reptilian brain? I do not know. Does anybody else get these things? Do women get Kong Leghairs? I grew up a few miles downwind from Three Mile Island, so there's a chance that growing Kong Follicles is just a radioactive superpower mutation. I'd rather be able to fly.