Cheek-Filled Whisker Dandy (Enjoy It, People, While You Can!!)

An old fellow with thick glasses came into the library. Suppressing a sigh, I turned and got the canister of Clorox wipes.

"Heh heh," he said. "I've got you trained like a dog. Like Pavlov, yeah? You see me, you get me the wipes. Except you don't get a treat."

"Indeed."

"Great beard, by the way."

"Thanks." (fucker)

"What was that?"

"I said, Thanks, Lucker. As in, Mitch Lucker from Suicide Silence. Because you, ah, luck like Mitch Looker."

"What?"

"Nothing."

After he left, I checked my beard counter. It was up to 28 since that morning.

Justkidding loudly brought in bags of holiday treats for our non-existent holiday party. She piled them in a promiscuous heap on the breakroom table.

"Ech. Your beard makes you look like a hobo," Justkidding said. "It's hideous."

I picked out a tiny Cheeto from my beard and ate it. "Wait, I think that was a grub."

Justkidding started comically gagging. I clicked my counter.

Jonah came in to appraise the treats. Then he appraised me.

"You look like Trotsky," he said.

"Did Trotsky have a beard?"

"Dialectically."

Half-click.

Todd came in.

"Join our party!!" squealed Justkidding.

"FUCK," Todd choked with fierce rage. "A party?! FOR FUCKING WHAT? WHY THE FUCK ARE WE FUCKING HAVING A FUCK??!?!?!?"

"Joy to the world," I said.

Todd turned to me. He gazed at my beard, and melted into soft dreams.

"Ohhhhhh, love it, dude. Your mustache is... Yeah. Love the colors. And the white... Oh gawd. Excuse me--" He ran to the restroom.

I clicked my counter. Twice.

Jonah frowned at me. "What are you doing?"

"I'm keeping a statistical analysis of all the beard mentions. Justron thought it would be fun to analyze the data later."

"Anything that will get him to stop playing racing car games."

As if summoned by the power of bad writing, Justron came in. Zani followed him, eagerly fingering the treats.

I turned to Justron and Zani. "By the way, you two, we're having a pogrom in the community room. We insist you come to it."

"Did you say program?" Justron said. "Will there be Mary Oliver on tap?"

"This way, please. They're doing free tattoos. Jew'll love it, I promise."

Justkidding got in my face and took my picture.

I grinned at her. "My beard?"

"That was racist. Just going in my file."

"Right. I suppose my beard is racist, too."

"No, just sad."

"Progress!"

I went back to the desk.

"Well, look at that beard," said a jackass. "Really letting it go, huh?"

"Yeah." (Click.)

"Hey, beardo! Does anyone call you that? Ha."

Click.

"Hemingway! Tolstoy! Deranged hobo! You look old! You look so different!"

Click, click, click, cl--

"Ow!" I cried. "By Jove's beard! I hurt my thumb on my beard counter!"

Something rattled on my desk. Jonah had thrown something at me.

"What this?"

"A shaver. Use it--and give it a rest!"

But the joke's on him. I need a scythe!