What total dumbass would absent-mindedly rub hair pomade not in his hair but all over the Frankenstein scar from his summer mole excision in the morning and leave his wound covered in a thin sheen of goo that won’t wash off all day? (Though it leaves his wrist hair delightfully shiny and manageable.)
Donald Trump?
No. But that’s a highly plausible, highly informed guess. Five points for you!
It is actually I, your surgery-scarred, shiny-wrist-haired, correct-pronoun-using protagonist. And “protagonist” is an Old Norwegian (as in Jake, the Old Norwegian) word for “dumbass.”
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