A razor company once invited George Bernard Shaw to shave his famous beard. He responded with a postcard:Man Beard Blog doesn't know much about Irish playwrights (or the Irish, or playwrights, or plays) but we have to fucking give it up for this fine furry fellow.
I shall never shave, for the same reason that I started a beard, and for the reason my father started his. I remember standing at his side, when I was five, while he was shaving for the last time. "Father," I asked, "Why do you shave?" He stood there for a full minute and finally looked down at me. "Why the hell do I?" he said.
For starters, he not only had a beard, he had a famous beard.
And so famous was this beard that a razor company sought out his endorsement! (Why does this sound familiar?)
But so much irrational beard exuberance was coursing through his whiskey drenched Irish veins, that Shaw failed to realize that "because a razor company paid me to" would be a damn good answer to his father's question.
Fucking triple props, you artistically creative, money-disdaining Man Beard!