All it took was a beard. And probably some kind words to Bret Hart. Also probably that black tank top. And probably the jeans and the look that if I met him in person he’d ignore me, then flick a cigarette in my direction, sending me into a downward spiral of love and stalking.
Long story short, this beard does things for my nether regions that Shawn’s stripper moves once did for me when I was thirteen, with a similar outcome as I still find myself confused and aroused and uncertain what to do with my body.