The Legend of Half Beard

Some days don't feel right. Either it's too bright out, too cold out, or the halfbeard too itchy. The Schlitz is warm and the hot dogs are cold. Can't get to sleep because you're too exhausted from drinking. Ran into one of those days about 4 years ago. Started out as any normal day should, get up, lay a duce, pick at the zits beneath the halfbeard, and then go about your day. Walk down to the newsstand, grab a paper and a cup of joe, then quickly spike it with what is remaining of your beer from the walk down. Just watchin the people do their little dance on the sidewalk. Seriously, jim and alice are a couple of hobos not far from here, they do interpretive dances for change. They aren't bad, need a little work, and with practice could go far in the world of street performers. But I digress... Today it seemed everyone was ripe with halfbeard hatred. It may come as a shock to some of you, but most people are scared of halfbeards. Don't know what to make of 'em, not realizing that I did not choose to have this curse, and sometimes blessing, that it was given to me, as i like to think, a gift. It is a gift, at least that's what i have to tell myself, because if it were up to Jackey McAsshole over there, i should shave it and never tell anyone. But hell, the groupies love it, or "Halfies" as they are known. You know the type of women, the one's who only shave one leg, or only shave half their snatch. Now, those are the freaks if you ask me.
Again, back to the original story, i was minding my own business, watching joe and alice do a dance about ATM fees, and this guy walks up to me and just starts talking. And not even conversation, I'm telling you, just random words are coming out of his mouth in no sensible order. "Hey, transistor frog meaty albino dishwasher vacation yellow." So like any good American would do, i started to walk away, hoping that he doesn't get any of his crazy on me. He starts to follow, so I turn the corner, and he bum rushes me, and hauls off and cracks me upside the head, and shoves me into an open van. I'm being held down by 3 guys, all of whom are named Stan (which is what it said on their "Hello, my name is..." stickers). The guy who originally attacked me is still talking gibberish, and proceeds to pull fake beards out of this box in the van. And one by one, the men are pasting the beards to me, anywhere they can put them. Once i am covered, they throw me from the speeding van, shouting their gibberish all the way. I tuck and roll, come to a stop, and look down at my fake beard encrusted body. I proceed to get up, pull off the fake beards and brush myself off. Halfbeard hate crimes are the weirdest. Oh, look, there's a bar in front of me. I wonder if they sell Schlitz...