Dear booger-picking beard barber: I was in the waiting area of your highfalutin barbershop and I saw you. You shamelessly, without even looking to see who was looking, took your chubby digit and shoved it up your nose. What is up there? I can only imagine it's a mass of mucus infused with tiny pieces of trimmed hair you inhaled from your client. You didn't even put down the comb in your other hand. You just went for a boogie mining operation right behind your client's back. What you did next made me want to take that jar of blue-green Barbicide and waterboard you with it. I know it's almost lunchtime and you have to finish another undercut before you can chow down on a gyro or burrito or whatever. But please, if you're going to eat your boogers, at least go in the bathroom and do it where only you will know how fucking disgusting you are.—Anonymous
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