After getting my photo taken for my new book, Plowed In-Switchblade Stories, I almost had to vomit. I have a disgusting turkey neck. I knew I had wrinkles, but it looks like an excavation site. There's no way to disguise it. No wonder young people avoid me. I thought it was because I'm boring. Well I am boring, but now I see that blandness is layered over with a patina of horrible wrinkled skin no lizard would leave the house exposing, assuming lizards owned houses.
Now I wonder what the top of my scalp looks like and whether my head has a funny shape. I never bothered with any of this stuff. I mean, I knew my elbows were ugly, but so are yours, everyone's. God must have been aggravated the day he created elbows.
What am I supposed to do? Wear turtlenecks in 90 degree weather? I'm going to make the best of a bad situation. Trim my ear and nose hair, bleach the coffee stains off my teeth, cover the annoying blemish near my nostril with tinted cream, deepen my voice and wear heavy construction boots. Go for the rugged metro-sexual look. Maybe I could wax my neck or go to traction rehab. I heard it's kind of stimulating in a 50 Shades of Gray kind of way.
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