I've always had an interest in mustaches but have never worn one -- until today. And that's discounting the indicator mustache that most facial hair-baring teenagers grow as nature's way of saying it's time to start shaving. I had a pretty furious beard for the past couple months to the point where I was routinely being called out for looking like Ted Kaczynski, so the terrorist beard had to go. Although to be more accurate it was more of a depression beard.
But since I'm feeling good these days, and it's been the opposite temperature of a witch's tit, the beard had to go. It did go out with a bang though. Over the weekend, I won a trip to the Virgin Mobile Freefest coming up in a couple weeks and had to take some promo pictures for marketing or whatever (the PR woman's personal collection); so if you come across a picture of some thin Zach Galifianakis looking motherfucker holding a robot lion/tiger cub, congratulations, you have located a picture of me.
A terribly out of date picture. I mean, it's been at least eighteen hours since I've had a full beard -- and in this Facebook/Twitter world that we live in, anything that is older than fifteen minutes is old news. So I decided to keep a handlebar mustache. Seriously. I look like I belong in a barbershop quartet, or I should be lifting those trapezoidal dumbbells while wearing a one-shoulder singlet. There are so many prospects for my new facial hair, I may keep it forever. And by forever I mean maybe through the weekend after attending a bachelor party. Nothing say classy to a stripper than a sweet, sweet handlebar mustache.
But since I'm feeling good these days, and it's been the opposite temperature of a witch's tit, the beard had to go. It did go out with a bang though. Over the weekend, I won a trip to the Virgin Mobile Freefest coming up in a couple weeks and had to take some promo pictures for marketing or whatever (the PR woman's personal collection); so if you come across a picture of some thin Zach Galifianakis looking motherfucker holding a robot lion/tiger cub, congratulations, you have located a picture of me.
A terribly out of date picture. I mean, it's been at least eighteen hours since I've had a full beard -- and in this Facebook/Twitter world that we live in, anything that is older than fifteen minutes is old news. So I decided to keep a handlebar mustache. Seriously. I look like I belong in a barbershop quartet, or I should be lifting those trapezoidal dumbbells while wearing a one-shoulder singlet. There are so many prospects for my new facial hair, I may keep it forever. And by forever I mean maybe through the weekend after attending a bachelor party. Nothing say classy to a stripper than a sweet, sweet handlebar mustache.
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