The Closest Shave Ever

This post was going to be about razors and crowd sourcing information as a way to try to find the best product/service but I stumbled across a series of videos and other articles online that reminded me that my headline here is a bit weak.

It really ought to be more exciting than the closest shave ever because the fight for eyeballs is best served by hyperbole.

I thought about using something like “The Closest Shave Ever that Kills Cancer and Saves Orphans” but was worried that people might actually believe I was serious.

And I would never ever want to tell a tale that might be considered, false, outrageous or an exaggeration.

That is why I need to tell you the story about the Buck in the photo above.

It Started In Malibu

Summer in Los Angeles can be kind of hot, especially when your air conditioning is broken so we often choose  to head out to the beach to beat the heat.

It is a fine summer day in Malibu and we are hanging out at the beach with half of Los Angeles and a dozen celebrities, some of whose names you might actually recognize.

I don’t want to sound like I am bragging, but three hours into our day Kevin Love asked me to take on Lebron James and some shmo no one has heard of in some beach volleyball.

I tell them I don’t want to embarrass them but they insist on my playing and we light those suckers up. Five matches later I am thoroughly exhausted and I collapse on the sand and thank them for their time.

My eyes close, a smile crosses my face and I think about what a cool story this is going to make and then everything goes to hell.

I have never been in combat but if I had I am sure I would have recognized the sounds of bombs and bullets on the beach.

That might have been a great moment for D-Day or Saving Private Ryan but it certainly isn’t my preferred form of relaxation.

I sit up, fire coming from my nostrils ready to dish out some damage because whomever is responsible for this has just wrecked the best nap I have had in three years.

And don’t even get me started on the kind of dream I was having because that is private.

I turn in a circle, head on a swivel searching for the culprit when all of a sudden I feel this burning sensation in chest.

There is a bright red circle there and just as I am wondering if I have been shot I feel my feet leaving the ground.

I look up and discover I am being kidnapped, not just by aliens, but those fucking illegal aliens, you know the kind that live on planets and travel by spaceship.

The bastards.

The Zombie Apocalypse

When I come too I find myself lying face down in some forest and now I am really pissed.

Those bastards didn’t just screw up my nap, they put me face down in the dirt and I just know I am going to be part of some kind of mud race that has more serious obstacles than man-made walls and little pits of fire.

I stand up, dust myself off and take a moment to look around and get my bearings. Aliens may have kidnapped me but I teach my kids to panic and even though they aren’t here I am not going to start now.

It is not like I am swimming in the middle of some burning river in a dying city.

But the thing is the devil that designed this day doesn’t have any intention of letting me catch my breath so he/she/it sends the creatures of the wild out to attack me.

Wolves, ferrets, squirrels and  bears wander out from between the trees and I assume my best Festivus pose and let out a barbaric yawp that is supposed to make them think twice about attacking me.

It is doesn’t work and the animals start coming at me but instead of working as a team they come at me one at a time.

Dumb animals haven’t figured out that I have watched every Rocky 98 times and know that if I keep fighting with the eye of the tiger I will win.

And that is when things get really weird.


Zombies enter the fray and I realize that I can’t win this fight with just my fists alone.

I don’t have time to skin the damn bear and use his claws so I am forced to grab the buck in the photo above and break his neck so I can use his antlers to stop the zombies.

In the midst of this festival of fists I realize I am huffing and puffing much harder than I should be and get pissed off because I just know that if I wasn’t in my forties it wouldn’t be this hard.

The twenty-five year-old I used to be would just laugh at this old man. If I could go back in time and slap myself I would, but I am far too busy to figure out how to build a time machine to make that happen.

Besides after I save the world from the zombie apocalypse I am going to find the aliens and blow up the mothership and maybe take out their nasty planet ensuring that the human race survives.

And you just know that I won’t get any credit because no one is paying attention to me. They are too busy staring at their phones and the few that are filming this are more interested in selling the footage to TMZ than thanking me for saving their asses.

The Closest Shave Ever

And that my friends is the story of the closest shave ever.

Parts of it may have been altered, manipulated or adjusted to fit with reality television guidelines and or the Fouker Fiction institute. 😉

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