Y’all remember Ulysses S. Grant? Won The Civil War? Passed the 15^th Amendment and actually gave a shit about the plight of African-Americans? BEARD.

Y’all remember Morgan Freeman? Played God, who’s pretty much the president of the universe? BEARD.

President Obama, this is the perfect time to strut your street cred by cultivating a totally sweet beard. You’re juggling two interminable wars, an oil spill of infuriatingly unquenchable proportion, an economy that refuses to recover, a cadre of retarded ass clowns posing as legitimately concerned citizens, and high US expectations for the World Cup. With all of this to bear, you need yourself a good, old-fashioned hirsute face to convey to every motherfucker who dares look you in the eyes, “The fuck did you just say to me?” As a member of the burgeoning beard community, I can attest to the awesome powers bestowed by the beard.

Allow me.

You’ll begin, as you are currently, with a lowly baby’s ass. You’ll say to yourself, “I look professional.” However, you are merely suppressing your urge to eschew shaving. It’s within us all. Soon enough the shadow forms and you start to identify with construction workers and Navy SEALs. The stubble begins to sandblast your wife’s face and the itching intensifies. It’s okay; it’s all part of the process in becoming something greater than yourself.

As the stubble hatches from its larval stage, a surge of confidence overwhelms your senses and, suddenly, random passersby will mistake you for someone who knows. Knows what, you ask? That’s just it. You know. Whatever it was they were about to ask – You. Know. It. On one solitary day of errand running I was asked if I knew where the batteries were in Radioshack, where the charcoal could be found in HEB, and where the rifle department was in Wal-Mart. If I were in the middle of the fucking desert, camels would come to me for water. That’s the awesome power I’m referring to. And it all comes from beard, sir. It truly does.

Beard power runs on a logarithmic scale. You already wield enough power to command a fleet of multi-million dollar aircrafts to escort you for a root beer float, so the enormity of the power of your beard will create a force on earth unlike anything we’ve seen since da Vinci discovered that he knew everything about everything. His genius increased with his beard length; though I should add a disclaimer that I have not personally found this to be the case. I’ve got a couple scars to prove the holes in that argument. But you, Mr. Harvard Horatio Alger, already have the brains. Now amass the brawn, good sir! Amass the brawn of the beard!

The next time that blowhard carrot Boehner approaches you with a plan to say “no” every step of the way, you turn your robust beard and stab him in the eyes. Metaphorically, of course. The next time a Tea Party rally ends up on your front lawn, you walk out of that great big White House in flannel, jeans, and your beard, and pick up your finest coercion axe and slowly walk towards the crowd. Literally, of course. The next time a major deep sea oil drilling operation goes awry, you jump into the fucking water and plug that shit up with a dense mass of your molted beard hair, and you gouge the motherfuckers on the cleanup costs. Seriously, of course.

So, Mr. President, please grow a beard. I’m tired of listening to politically inept assholes. It’s time you overwhelmed them with the majesty of the bearded, and continued the tradition of Presidential facial hair excellence.