Ugg Imagines Ugg

Ugg was under thirty so he wasn't yet responsible for his face. His lack of responsibility provided him with a cloak of innocence regarding all of the violence that his visage had inspired.

Ugg had the kind of face that people liked to punch. He always had a bad haircut further ruining his infuriating red hair. His gaze was shifty, suspicious, and sullen. His nose was too long and usually overflowing. His mouth seemed to be carved into a permanent smirk. His expression made you feel as if he knew something bad about you that nobody else knew and the first chance he got, he would tell everybody.

This combination of physiognomy and expression had earned him the nick name Ugg Too Much. Even his friends called him that. His friends were those peope who could resist the siren song of punching his face in.

Sometimes even his friends couldn't resist.

Aside from his grill, Ugg wasn't a bad kid. He just happened to be a walking mixed message. The preview of his face didn't accurately represent the movie of his mind. Ugg didn't hate anybody who didn't hate him. He never threw the first stone, he just got rocked a lot.

He even liked his nickname.

Ugg Too Much reminded Ugg of some kind of huge, red, stupid looking cigar store indian statue that managed to inspire not only revulsion but also a kind of contemptuous, cringing respect. Ugg imagined the cigar sore Indian pointing towards Indiana with one huge, hamlike hand while using his other dunderhand to lean on a Bunyanesque gigantic ax. Of course there was pigeon shit in his feathers and immobility in his thighs so the overall mental impression was one of ignorant, primitive, vengeful power.

At least that's how Ugg imagined his nickname.