The Mountain Man
Hey there, guy with the Grizzly Adams beard. What are you hiding under that mess of hair? Do you think we’re not on to you? We all know you read the Unabomber’s manifesto and sport a prison tattoo. And you better not complain when your mountain gal pal refuses to shave her legs. If you do, we’ll call the One Armed Man.
You don’t need drugs. You are drugs. Whenever you’re around, time melts, giraffes mate with elephants, and tigers emerge from the mouths of goldfish. Thomas Kinkade has nightmares about you.
The Scooby Snacker
You were thrilled when you started growing hair on your chin back when you were 15, especially when you realized it really emphasized your prepubescent features. Your chin may or may not have filled out, but the hair remains a permanent and weird extension of your face. You say “Zoinks!” a lot, and you watch Cartoon Network every night. Right now, you have a pipe in your pocket and your mangy dog is at your side.
The Soul Man
Too ugly to be ironic, this awkward bit of hair just under the bottom lip will make most people wish they carried a razor around so they could just nip it in the bud. You take fashion advice from Billy Ray Cyrus and fantasize about his daughter. Chris Hansen would like to talk to you.
The Zipper Hater
The “English” have moustaches. We hate the “English.” The “English” are evil. They believe in motorobiles and pants teeth and Burberry.
On the weekends, you don a dirty, gray uniform and run around on a battlefield with a fake gun while somebody lights smoke bombs and firecrackers. At night, you cuddle up with your fellow Johnny Rebs to escape the freezing cold
and the closet you’re trapped in.
You not only have tons of time to stand in front of the mirror and craft your facial hair into perfectly-straight lines and/or curlicues, but you think it looks good and you enjoy stroking it. You may be rewarded for your efforts by hook-ups in bars too dark to show your handiwork. And no, she doesn’t want it that way.
The Pizza Boy
You are not here to deliver a pizza. You are not here to install cable. You are not here to change the light bulbs. You are here to get it on. And we want to watch.
In your free time, you enjoy mixing poisons, stroking cats, tying up damsels in distress, and fashioning plans for world domination. During the work day, you slave away in a cubicle writing TPS reports and muttering under your breath. You like kimonos, and you listen to Godspeed You Black Emperor! and Mogwai, but only after midnight.
The Head Banger
You’re often scowling despite the fact that your stache-less beard is always smiling. You love listening to Creed, P.O.D., and other hard-rock bands that you don’t realize are Christian acts. You drive a ’94 Ford Taurus. Hunter green.
You have watched Highlander 210 times. You weep during the closing lines of “Bohemian Rhapsody.” You harass skateboarders for skating on the sidewalk. You taze bros, and you arrest hos. The doughnuts are making your ass fat.
The paint-brush mustache has been suspended indefinitely. Nobody can have this one. Nobody. Don’t be an asshole.