Arrrjjjjjjjjjjjjooooo.
Oh. Oh no. I wasn't expecting that.
So: body hair.
I don't have a hairy chest. I should, by all accounts. I'm quite big, I have a deep voice, and I resemble some kind of mythical beast. But I don't have a hairy chest.
It doesn't bother me. I don't often wear an open shirt. And I'm not often called upon to keep stationery stored on my chest. I use pockets.
But I do confound expectations.
For example, a lot of people assume that I must be in the Hell's Angels because of my tattoos. But they're just gaudy birthmarks.
They also assume I love Dolly Parton because I often wander around dressed as Dolly Parton, singing Dolly Parton songs, and periodically shouting "I LOVE DOLLY PARTON". But, in reality, I just have a speech impediment.
The biggest surprise for people is that I'm not actually a human. Even though I walk on two legs and own a Travis album. I'm actually a tiny planet. I have several moons.
It just goes to show: appearances can be deceiving. And deceptive. And receptive. And defective.
Don't book a judge by his cover. Or cover a judge by the book.
Yeah, yeah. I've done this before. But I haven't written anything since Monday, alright?!
You want something revolutionary? Well? Do ya?
Well, here's a picture of my wrist.
Happy now?
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