I know what you're thinking: where have you been for the past three days, Johnson?

Well, it's a bit difficult to take photos of your beard when you've had your face shot off. I blame the Olde Fartz, my group of beechwood-aged PC gaming buddies, who spent several hours Thursday evening blasting my dashing avatar to bits.

I got better.

The photo here shows that I've already undergone a vital neck shave, necessary to ensure that the few scattered hairs that sprouted in the region didn't drive me stark raving bonkers with The Itch.

The photo also shows, in shocking detail, precisely the problem I have with growing a beard, even given thirty days to complete it: sparseness. My chin and cheeks are not covered with a dense mat of hair; rather, there are several minor follicolonies—each ultimately as doomed as Roanoke—spread out over the vast, pink plain that is my face. I fear they will not survive the harsh winter ahead...

In other news, I found one mutant, albino mega-hair lurking just beneath my chin before I shaved. It was unnerving, to say the least.