Uphill! Both ways!

You kids today, with your Mach 3 Turbo razors and your lubricating strips and your ultra-frothy, hypo-allergenic shaving foam with essence of eucalyptus and aloe...it makes me sick.

Why, in my day, we shaved with the edge of a rusty scythe after working sixteen hours in the field cutting sorghum and horseweed! And aftershave! Boy, we didn't have any fancy smelling "Stallion Rut" or "Loin's Pride"; if it was a special occasion, we'd splash some grain alcohol on our raw, bleeding cheeks after we were done so we'd smell like something other than sweat and agony! It drove the ladies wild, let me tell you.

And when we turned twelve, we stopped shaving altogether! The naked face was a sign of weakness, and the first thing a young buck did once his voice started crackin' was to grow a beard. A beard thick and dense enough to deflect a Bowie knife and fearsome enough to stop a charging bull elephant dead in his tracks. And it didn't take no month to grow the thing, neither. In the time it takes a...what? Eh? MATLOCK!