Every girl loves a retardostache

A good moustache is a significant advantage. For instance, the Coen brothers found Sam Elliott’s moustache tremendously useful when looping dialogue for The Big Lebowski, as it covered most of his lip movement and allowed them to redub lines at will.
If only a moustache could help me go back and change my words when I say something I shouldn’t have said. Alas, it cannot — first, because I live in real life and not a movie, and second, because I can only dream of owning a moustache as rugged and majestic as Sam Elliott’s.
Michelangelo believed that every block of stone had a sculpture living inside it, and it was the task of the sculptor to set it free by chipping away everything around it. In the same way, every untrimmed beard has a moustache living inside it (and sometimes lice). A few weeks back, I was sporting a few days’ worth of scraggly growth until I shaved away everything that didn’t look like George Armstrong Custer. Subsequent trimming turned it into a Frank Zappa; evidently, the important thing was to wear the facial hair of a leader of men tragically cut down in his prime.
Of course it looked, as I mentioned before, skeevy. But don’t take my word for it; check out its predecessor. I’m just not good with this sort of thing, thanks to my Neapolitan colour scheme. The hair on my head is brown, but my facial hair comes in blonder; more southerly, I turn ginger. I’m a calico.
It’s gone now, thankfully. The only reason I kept it around was to appall my friend Jo, who accuses me of looking like a douchebag at the best of times. So when I saw her, I really played up the sleaze factor. I told her it was for my new job: giving moustache rides. “Just like the old T-shirt says,” I said. “‘Moustache rides: 5 cents.’
“That’s a really good deal, actually,” I said. “You can’t get anything for five cents anymore. You can’t even get gum. If someone offers you a moustache ride for five cents, you should take it. You’ll be kicking yourself later if you pass up a bargain like that. It’s practically giving it away for free. It’s like the five cents is just an honorarium, just to cover costs. Even a child could afford those prices.*”
She accused me of simply running out of razor blades and not wanting to spend money buying more, but I pointed out that I’d have a beard if that were the case. When pressed, I claimed that I was growing it for Candace because she liked it. And why not? The Victorians said that kissing a man without a moustache was like eating an egg without salt. That’s why almost every man had one, even though they were so inconvenient they had to wear face cages to keep them out of the way while eating. They were sexy as hell.
This lie was actually Candace’s idea. She hated the moustache, but she liked the idea of tricking Jo, who we knew would grill her about her apparent love of the hirsute upper lip. When that time came, she did her best to hold up under Jo’s relentless line of questioning, but it was a doomed cause.
“She says you look like a douche, and I couldn’t really admit to liking it,” she told me. “I tried avoiding the question, but that girl is persistent. In the end, I just said, ‘What girl doesn’t like a retardostache?'”

* If I were Sam Elliott, I probably could have taken that last line out.

3 Responses to “Every girl loves a retardostache”

  1. 1 Candace

    Aw. You forgot to mention the part about being mistaken for gay, you bear! Grr.

  2. 2 Eric

    It seems that a moustache fits you like a ninja suit fits Chris Farley.

  3. 3 Eric

    I just noticed that in your footnote you said you ‘could’ have taken that last line out, not that you ‘would’. Hmmm…..

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