I would like to address the detractors who have called into question the masculinity of those contestants with the good sense and decency to shave their neck hair early.

Gentlemen, you are meddling with forces you cannot possibly comprehend.

Though you may scoff, there is more at stake in the taming of the neckbeard than mere comfort or comeliness. Unchecked, the neckbeard elicits feelings of dread and horror. Women are gripped with paroxyms of primal terror, children flee screaming and even the most stalwart of men may be shaken to the point that he seeks comfort and guidance from sources without himself.

I offer Exhibit A, a photo of my unshaven neck taken late in the month last year; a photo so horrifying that one of our own contestants—a contestant who has less than a year later called me to task for trimming this area early in the contest—invoked a deity in response.

Don't look at it!

— Henry Walton Jones, Jr., noted Man of Science.

[P]ut that thing away or you'll get us all killed!

— Excerpt from a decree issued by a member of the Alderaanian Royal Family.

It is a simple matter to look upon us with scorn, for the unchecked neckbeard instills an inflated sense of self-worth in the man whose folly is to wear it. But I beseech you to look past your own ego and have some consideration for those around you. It is right and decent and merciful to shave the neckbeard; I would go so far as to say that it is your solemn duty as men to do so.

The neckbeard is not to be trifled with, gentlemen; it is a thing to be squelched at all costs. At stake is not mere masculinity, but humanity.

I don't have words to describe what's going on here.

(Photo Credit: David Johnson, my eldest brother. Used without permission, 'cause I'm a rotten sibling.)

I'm fairly comfortable calling the "beard" that appears in this photo the final product of HoNoToGroABeMo. This shot was taken curing the not-quite-Thanksgiving gathering at the International House of Johnson, when my mother, father, sister, brother, nephews, niece and various in-laws descended upon our abode to feast on turkey, ham, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy (ham and turkey), unsuffering succotash, sweet potato casserole, cranberries, BLT dip, veggies, pickles and pie...oh, the pie.

I was somewhat preoccupied with family and food, so I completely failed to capture the requisite self-portrait and post the requisite HoNoToGroABeMo blog entry. Fortunately, my brother posted several photos on the Facebook today, and at least one of them prominently features my beard.

So here it is. Thirty days of growth, minus some trimming I did to maintain minimal decency. I think I'll let it grow through the month of December to see whether or not some (or all) of the rather unimpressive patches fill in with thick, manly whiskers. Maybe I'll even post the result of thirty more days here after Christmas.

Maybe Santa will bring me a real beard.

Or maybe not. In any case, I want to thank everyone who participated in HoNoToGroABeMo this year: Bob, Chris, David, Gus, Jeff, Nev and Wesley. Your beards (or reasonable facsimiles thereof) may not have provided much warmth as the bitter chill of near-winter descended, but they provided a great deal of amusement throughout the month. I hope you'll all return next year, when I swear on a stack of Remington MicroScreens that I will do a series of Celebrity Beard Profiles (you know, the ones that I didn't do this year); at least one a week.

Thanks also to Laura for providing the wife's perspective, and to Jenny for her comments throughout the month. And thank you to all the wives and girlfriends who put up with thirty days of stubble and silliness with nothing to show for it on December 1st but a bathroom sink full of razor leavings.

Finally, thanks once more to Bob, for picking up the HoNoToGroABeMo ball and running with it. This website would not exist without Bob's initiative and his mad web development skillz. Kudos to you and your beard, sir.

P.S. There will be at least one more post from me in the next couple of days. My father and younger brother both participated in HoNoToGroABeMo, and I'd like to present a few of the photographs they shared with me.

I've still got some beard photos to share, and not all of them are of my stunning mug. I have been extremely lazy over the past few days, but the final result of 30 days of unfettered growth will soon be displayed for all to see.

Dashing!

In the interest of fostering peace and harmony this holiday season, I have shaved my neck and done the teensiest bit of trimming on my cheeks—just enough to eradicate the few stray hairs that were beginning to march toward my eyeballs.

We did not celebrate Thanksgiving at the International House of Johnson today; not because we hate America or have an aversion to the hats the Pilgrims wore (c'mon, Solomon Kane was a badass, despite the hat), but because key members of our family were absent. We have delayed the feastibration until Saturday, when Laura's mother does not have to work and my parents and two-fifths of my siblings can join us. All told, I estimate that there will be seventeen mouths to feed come Saturday, and if you think I'm regurgitating that much turkey, you've got another think coming.

Happy Thanksgiving, all.

Well, except Nev, for obvious reasons. We uppity colonials may be tempted to point and laugh, but I'd like to think that whole "Revolutionary War" business is water under the bridge. Deep down, though, I suspect the entire United Kingdom avoids turkey on this day. I mean, like it's made of bitter, bitter poison.

Who's impressed? No one? Yeah. Awesome.

I doubt there's going to be a whole lot of improvement in the asymmetrical, patchy, scraggly mess that has sprouted up across my face over the past three and a half weeks, but we'll see what five more days can do.

I need to shave this thing off before I get a hankerin' to start up a militia.

Huge...tracts of land!

As the flash of the camera clearly reveals, there is a reason beyond mere itchiness that I do not typically allow the hair upon the front of my neck to go unshorn for more than a day or three at a time. While there is certainly the makings of a fine beard there, I suspect it would take several transplants, a topical cream and one or more lifetimes to see it actually grow.

This is as close as you want to get. Actually, this is probably far, far closer than you want to get.

I have dropped a number of balls in the last couple of days, and photographing my beard is one of them. I think it's safe to say that my face could benefit from the "flood fill" feature of most computer-assisted drawing applications.

It is not pretty.

Watchin' a movie.

Not a whole lot to say about the beard today. As has been noted elsewhere, the itching seems to have ceased overnight. What hasn't changed? The fact that there are large portions of my cheeks upon which no hair will grow.

Sleepy Kris is sleepy.

Here we are at the nineteenth day. I once again set my beard trimmer on "3" and gave my mug a quick once over this morning. As expected, the result was nothing that could reasonably be called "grooming".

There are a mere eleven days remaining in November. I am considering a contest or perhaps a vote to determine what my shaving template will be for December...

Soooooo happy.

I sat in a conference room this morning with fourteen men and three women, none of whom had beards. Is it possible to feel other people envying your facial hair? I only ask because I certainly didn't sense anything like envy in that conference room.

If Pinocchio's fairy godmother appeared right now, I think I'd wish for a wooden beard. How cool would a wooden beard be? Yeah.