Be glad you're not any percentage Jewish.

>>103222
i am a month of no shaving away from looking like an islamic terrorist

>>103266
I will not shear my beard, not trim the wildness that crowns my visage, for I stand well-attired in my profession, a son of the North, appearing as if I was the untamed spirit of a Vikingr. When the fire-eyed glaring Muspels and frosty bitch Jötnar cross into my career path, slinking into the halls of my trade, their gazes flicker with wary suspicion. Do they fear that at any moment, I might summon the divine wrath of Gungnir itself, my spear materializing from the ether to part the veil between realms? Let them wonder and doubt themselves. The Norns weave as they will, and I am but the storm they sense gathering. The unkempt mane that frames my face is no mark of neglect, but a banner of defiance, a testament to the old ways when a man’s worth was measured not by the sheen of his baby-like feminine shaved chin to strip all display of masculinity, but by the fire in his gaze and the iron in his spine. My bearing that of a former native in my lands now considered an exile by those whom have invaded Asgardr, a son of Odin’s wrath whose appearance strikes fear in those ember-hearted interlopers as they slink into my halls. My deep voiced mocking laughter reveals the echoes of my disdain for their unwelcomed invasion. I am the thorn in the side of their order, those invaders welcomed in with open arms by the children of Loki.

They come with their clipped beards resembling the faces of women while possessing the untuned and gaunt bodies of men, and their hollow courtesies, these so-called conquerors who can only claim my land for their own without actually forging themselves through the fire of battle. Those grinning serpents, oath-breakers draped in stolen titles of citizenship. They call themselves kings of their particular gangs, engaging in the most cowardly of violent acts without a shred of courageous confrontation, unable to meet a man solo without pissing themselves in apologetics while flinching at the rumble of my voice like distant thunder over the fjords. I appear to them as a relic. A ghost of the old blood, soon to be swept aside by the polished lies and whispered schemes of Loki's children inviting criminal delinquents to swarm in and corrupt the vaunted halls of the Æsir.