There was only one problem: the map came with a strict caveat. According to ancient lore, the mountain spirits only granted passage to the "Wisest of Elders," specifically defined as men with "beards long enough to sweep the sins from a stone floor."
As he turned to leave, a sudden, violent sneeze erupted from his lungs. The force of it—combined with the high-altitude sweat—compromised the Forge’s legendary adhesive. The right side of the beard peeled away, flapping in the wind like a dying crow. The monk’s eyes narrowed. The mountain began to tremble. where can you buy a fake beard
Arthur Pringle was a man of aggressive mediocrity, a mid-level accountant whose most daring trait was his commitment to a Tuesday-night puzzle club. That changed when he inherited a map from his eccentric Great Uncle Barnaby—a map that claimed to lead to the "Fountain of Eternal Dignity," located deep in the mist-shrouded peaks of the Himalayas. There was only one problem: the map came
He flew to Nepal. He trekked for six days, the fake beard itching like a thousand ants, yet held firm by the Forge’s industrial-grade spirit gum. Finally, at the Gate of Whispers, a spectral monk materialized. The monk looked at Arthur’s magnificent, flowing silver beard, nodding in deep, silent respect. "Pass, Elder," the ghost chimed. The right side of the beard peeled away,
Desperate, Arthur bypassed the local costume shops. He didn't want a "Party City" polyester chin-wig; he needed something that could withstand a gale-force wind and the scrutiny of a mountain ghost. He found himself in the back alley of London’s theater district, entering a shop called The Follicle Forge .
Arthur was twenty-eight and genetically incapable of growing more than a patchy, sad goatee that looked like a dying shrub.