Remember that post I did about Honda? That wasn't sponsored. I can see how it might have seemed like it was, since the brand was slapped right there below your noses, but that was just a tip of the cap for loaning me a car for 10 days after my own wheels died suddenly. They didn't give me a cent.
This post is different, though. It's sponsored by Philips Norelco, a company I feel very happy to work with because they came on board with Dad 2.0 first, by supporting our Movember team. They came to Austin as well, and I hope they continue to support us dad bloggers for a long time to come.
Besides, they're paying me to tell you about stuff I use anyway.
I grew up mostly indifferent to hockey, because I was never much good at skating. But that all changed after the U.S. hockey team won Olympic gold, and my friends spent our afternoons playing street hockey in front of our houses (and yelling "Car!" every 45 seconds).
Then, two years later, the Colorado Rockies moved to the Meadowlands and became the New Jersey Devils, and my home state had a hockey team. I took to them right away, despite their hideous red-and-green color combo and a logo that looks like a bull with its leg on the couch.
They were uggos, but they were our uggos.
They got wise after a few years and ditched the green for black, thus fully embracing Satan. And now, Our Uggos have the chance to win their fourth Stanley Cup, against the L.A. Kings, who were a curiosity when they swiped the Great One from Edmonton but otherwise have no reason to exist, much less advance to the finals as a No. 8 seed.
Hockey players are famous for being superstitious freaks who gargle Sudafed by the gross forego shaving during the playoffs. So that's what I'm doing (see left), even though it's been almost 90 degrees here lately, and my kids complain that daddy's face feels like a woodworker's rasp, and I'm going to attend my 25th college reunion this weekend looking like Freud's grandpa.
Because it's the Devils, man. Hail, Satan.
Anyone who's read Shakespeare knows that kings are corrupted by power, and they always let the Devil play on their vanity until they tragically overreach and end up with their head on a pike. I eagerly await Ring Number 4.
Thanks for reading this far. If you're willing to tolerate this creeping commercialism, I'm grateful. And as a show of my personal thanks, I will make you this solemn promise: Throughout this campaign, I will not stoop to John's level and somehow make every shaving post about my nards.