Moustache Week

For my latest adventure in facial hair I wanted to be less bizaare than my marvelous half-beard and more flat-out creepy. So I grew a fumanchu. Why? Because it was moustache week, that's why. Plus my dad had a mean stache in the 80s. Not long after my parents got divorced, although I blame that on the 1994 not-world-series-winning Toronto Blue Jays.

Of course moustache week started over two weeks ago and I'm still asking the ladies if they want to "go for a ride on it," or "if they have a little sister I should know about." Once Davenport gets me the picture he took of it, I'll post it. I've decided that "moustache week" can be longer than a standard week, the same way a "baker's dozen" is always more than twelve and a "leap year" can be longer than a year.

Anyway I fed it a last meal of alphagetti and soy milk, washed it, conditioned it, then executed it. I didn't cry.

In celebration of this grand tradition, let's play name that stache!!!

STACHE 1)


STACHE 2)


STACHE 3)


STACHE 4)


First person to name them all in the comments gets a prize or something.

P.S.

Don't worry Lanny, I didn't forget about ya! Now there's a stache you can season a pot roast with!