Well, that came off a little smug

The best shave of my life was, of course, performed by a young Australian woman named Elle. It was not only the charming company that made it the best shave, although that didn't hurt; that was the smoothest my face has felt since puberty. This was just about a year ago, aboard the Freedom of the Seas.

The third-best was performed by a barber with a straight razor. He commented that, "for such a baby face, you sure have a tough beard." This was roughly ten years ago.

The photo to the left represents #2. It also represents the most important. This shave could cure cancer. I won't touch my razor again until December, or the sponsorship money my increasingly grizzled countenance brings in cures cancer. Which ever, you know, comes first.

Send money; I don't know if I can make it to December.