I got Gillette's new razor, the Fusion. Just used it. It's awesome. Five blades! Hot damn! The Chosen One and Lil' Buddy brought it over from the States last night. Made their nine-hour plane ride well worth it. For me, anyway.

You can't buy the Fusion in Denmark. When it comes to razors it's like the Stone Age up in here. The closest thing they have to the Fusion is a spork. I remember using sporks to eat raviloi in the 3rd grade, but I guess around these parts they're the latest rage. People use them for everything, like shaving. Talk about razor burn. It makes eating mutton stew easier, though.

Michael Tomlinson isn't nearly as excited about the Fusion as I am. He's still pissed about missing his flight. He's without any of his beard care products. Pretty much he just stays in his room, strumming his guitar, weeping. He made an appearance this morning and ate a sheeplette, but he wasn't much of a conversationalist at the breakfast table. I think he still thinks we're a cult. Whatever. We're not the ones wearing a pillow case over our heads to keep people from seeing our unkempt beards.

I think I might go shave again. My new lover Trinka says she likes my "bald face" and I'm all about pleasing My Lady my new lover Trinka. Plus the Fusion on my face feels like Heaven--five bladed-enhanced-lubricator-stripped Heaven. Tomlinson doesn't know what he's missing. Loser.

This post is dedicated to Victor Kiam.