shaving

if i were to choose one word to describe my shaving habits, it would be: gorey.
but not that horrorshow-type gore, no sir! the gore of a trained surgeon, that of jack the ripper himself in fact. mine is the blood spurting gore of precision, and perhaps maybe even a little style.
i mean sometimes i just stick to the quick-and-easy bludgeoning, but then it's like "oh, come on, just die already," and on those days i have so much toilet paper stuck to my face i look like a dog in a sanitairy napkin disposal. gross, i know.
but my motto shall forever and always remain, "take no prisoners, unless they have some kind of cool stuff they don't want to immediately part with. or they know how to access the great treasure deeep in the ocean, past the fearsome six-uvulaed opossum of anamanatamaceeya, beneath the belly of the fat guy, over the cross-contaminated kitchen counter of nepenthes dorm room, and buried in the couch of the diaper-wearing uncle. or they are in accounting."

and don't touch my razor. you might have some fucked up disease.