Saturday, July 5, 2008

I no longer control the mustache. The mustache controls me.







The Firecracker 5K was a great sporting event to showcase my mustache and I think any street cred I lost for pushing a stroller was offset by my snot encrusted lip jewelry. Also, a weekly road ride takes on new meaning when you're sporting a stache. The skin tight, effeminate clothing isn't as embarrassing anymore. I've found that it is very hard to detract from the utter manliness of a third eyebrow framing every word I speak although it does add creepification to every expression. There are some automatic conversions to normal daily life at present.



Some examples:



Smile=leer



Mouth=talking hair hole



Shirtless=swingtown



Stare=incarceration






I was in Walmart the other day and left with a flame colored "do-rag." Pre-tied so I couldn't mess up it's style. Somehow I think a month ago I might not have appreciated such an obviously kick butt accessory. Is the mustache influencing my very thoughts and actions? Inconceivable-for example, I've always meant to take up smoking Newports on the way to work at 7am, it just happens to be now that I choose to do it.



1 comment:

E. Garrett Bryant said...

I'm surprised the mustache hasn't made you get that bald eagle tattoo you've always wanted on your shoulder.

eXTReMe Tracker