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As No Shave November comes to a close, the annual tradition of No Laid December is coming to fruition. For a sizable group of bearded Brunonians, December marks an abundance of jolly "Ho Ho Ho's" but a dearth of naughty "Oh Oh Oh's."
"I celebrate No Laid December every year," said Edward Hamersley GS through his thick, Jesus-style beard. "My fiancée and I take it very seriously. We start preparing at the beginning of November, and by the time Thanksgiving rolls around we're completely celibate." He paused to run his fingers through the yeti on his chin.
"By the time December rolls around," he continued, "she's so into it that she refuses to look at me."
No Laid December, or Celibacy Awareness Month, has a long, rich history around the globe. Abraham Lincoln and his wife are rumored to have participated, as well as Popes Julius I, II, III, and every other Pope, ever. The tradition continues to flourish even today at Brown.
Garrett Hendrix '12, like Hamersley and those before him, is currently participating in the month-long effort. He sits stiffly upright, so as to keep his thick beard - the "lovechild of Socrates and Gandalf" - from hitting those around him.
"Sometimes I'll come pretty close to breaking the tradition, but every December she plays the cold, disinterested girlfriend perfectly," Hendrix stated. "She gives me this look like, 'You disgust me,' but I know keeping up the charade is just as hard for her as it is for me, if not harder. We all have to cope with our withdrawal somehow."
Hendrix, while demonstrating his girlfriend's "look," inadvertently made eye contact with a nearby bird. It then proceeded to nest on his face.
"It was absolutely hilarious," he continued, screaming and swatting at the falcon. "Last night, she said she was going to use December to 'move out.' Where'd that idea come from?"
As demonstrated by Hendrix, 'No Laid December' does not come without its effects on university life. Fraternity parties have been reduced to "dark, quiet rooms filled with Buffalo Bill look-a-likes," bird attacks are at an all-time high, and naked doughnut runs move library dwellers to tears.
However, Grant Shapiro '10, a victim of a Rogaine spill and doppelganger of Cousin It, believes he holds the key to surviving this December. He sits nervously, his face and neck completely obstructed by long swaths of hair. He begins to speak, but only muffled words are audible. He grabs hair away from his mouth and gasps for breath.
"From what I've seen, which Lord knows isn't very much," he said, panting and pointing at his hairy head, "our lives are turning into one long Geico commercial. We all turn into hairy, bitter cavemen and refuse to procreate with one another."
Pausing to spit out a hairball, Shapiro added with a sigh, "All we can do now is wait for the advertisement to end. I just thank God that nothing rhymes with January."
