The Golden ManChild

There comes a time in every man's life when you simply can't fit any more gold shit in your beard. Yesterday we had to give our condolences to Zach Crain for the death of his Gold-Shit-Beard Youth. There are two options at this point: write a eulogy that would make our eyes leak OR celebrate all the things you can do once you hit the point of no GoldShitBeard return. Celebration it is.

The very first thing to celebrate with is a dog that looks like an alien. Preferably in a position that highlights your groin.

FAIR WARNING: The photos below are NSFF (Not Safe For Freak). In our golden excitement, we gave away all of our On-Person-Freakers. The result was a freakerless evening. It was traumatizing and we apologize for any subsequent knit resentment the reader may feel. Spiritually.

Embrace the correlations to Davy Jones and wallow your mouth in seaweed. The edible kind. (Which is redundant because it has officially been established that everything is edible if you eat it.)

Celebrations usually involve friends that enjoy hats. So. Do that. In this particular celebratory situation, make sure that your hat-friend feels comfortable staring at strangers. Disturbingly. In a syncronized manner. With Santa Claus. The Santa Claus who cannot fit any more gold shit in his beard.

Please report back with any additional partytricks for GoldShitBeard ceremonies. Thank you for your cooperation and goodbye.