Hairy

So back when I was in high school there was this kid named Frank Zaccheo. I was pretty much the coolest guy in school—starting quarterback, dated the hottest cheerleader, straight As, drove a Corvette. Frank, on the other hand, was kind of a geek. Student newspaper, ran track.

So we made a deal:

“When you’re older,” I said, “you have to grow the largest, most ludicrous beard in history, and I’ll post the progress on my blog.”

“Really, Mr. Pearlman?” he said.

“Yeah,” I replied, “unless you want a knuckle sandwich.”*

He agreed—so I let him escape merely with a spitball to the head.

The results …

* I was very into Happy Days at the time.

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