Theft by Deception

I bought a late Christmas present for my beard this weekend. It’s a tobacco scented oil that I slop on to make her soft, smelly and shiny (the three S beard care system). This isn’t a product that I need—I actually looked at it twice before I bought it—but for some reason I couldn’t stop thinking about it. People normally find tobacco disgusting and here I am, wanting to rub it all up on my face, the way people without pasty white skin do with baby oil at the beach. It doesn’t sound appealing, but this shit smells good and I had to have it.

You see, I want to be the face of tobacco proper. Like, tobacco that makes you wanna unmffff. I want the oils manly scent to waft off my beard and Toucan Sam boys towards me. I want to kiss greasers smoking outside the bar just so good tobacco and rotten tobacco can swirl around together like Scar and Simba fighting in the jungle. I want the love of my life to scope me from across the bar and have a flick of light from my beard gloss catch his eye and move on down towards his heart. But most of all, and the real reason why I purchased this product, I’m sick of my beard smelling like cheese, and this is probably the only smell strong enough to cover that.