Fail Beard is the new Your Mom.
So The Depression Beard Experiment has totally come to an end, because all it really looks like is that I'm suffering from radiation poisoning, and unless that gives me super-strength like the Hulk, it is not a good look. In fact, it made me look even more sickly than usual and by "sickly" I totally meant "strapping". So I've settled on Fail Beard, which is just the goatee part of the Depression Beard... all forgotten and lonely on my chin, and I totally want to give it a hug because it is a good Fail Beard and doesn't sass me and always does its homework and it plays catch with that Mark kid from up the street who has terrible depth perception and keeps getting beaned in the face with fastballs and is beginning to develop some bad nervous tics from the repeated brain trauma.
Since I can't grow a beard it's pretty obvious that my future as a lumberjack is now in question, so I'll have to do something else. And that's when it hit me. I'll be a Think Tank! One of those guys, who works in groups and comes up with innovative solutions to difficult problems, but I don't want to work with anyone else because they'll totally cramp my style, yo and also because they might not like me coming into work at our super-fancy office building in my bathrobe, and I don't need those guys anyway(s), because the very first problem I will solve is how not to work with other members of my think tank because they are such assholes. Also, I'm pretty sure as a Think Tank I get to drive around in an actual tank and hunt dinosaurs. But I can't find that information online.
Now I'm pumped because I have a career totally planned out and all I need is an awesome name for my Think Tank, and a building, and start-up capital and cool stationary. So I started with the stationary because I think we can all agree that when a guy walks up to you in a bar and asks how much for a "special" because he hopes you're a prostitute, the whole situation can be diffused if he does something classy like handing you a business card and saying "Think about it!" whilst waggling his eyebrows. I'm so smooth it's ridiculous, is my point.
I want to keep the card simple, but maybe "Think Tank" isn't the right title to convey how awesome I am and I need to add something else, but then that episode of House comes on where the Australian Dr.'s Dad comes to say goodbye to his son because he has The Cancer, but never tells him , but he totally tells House and meanwhile someone is dying, and it's probably necrotising fasciitis, which every goddamn patient on that show seems to catch, so what the fuck is going on? And also, how about I know what "necrotising fasciitis" is?! I'm pretty much a sexy, genius doctor now but I can't put THAT on my business card because there are laws about pretending to be a Doctor and it's three strikes and you're out in New York, so I better just watch my step. I'll add another title...I just have to think of something cool.