As I sit here and type this, my upper lip is naked and cold, utterly soulless. A piece of me is gone and I fear it will never come back. Me and my mustache had many good times together. I would stroke him thoughtfully and he would laugh at all my jokes. My mustache had a name. His name was Dale. Dale is gone...but not forgotten. I love you sweet mustache. (whispers) I love you.
It all happened last Thursday, on a sunny day in Southern California while preparing for the bachelor party of Saloon bartender Brant R. Brown. The 'R' stands for Randall. I nervously put the razor to my delicate chin, and within minutes, I became something more than just another douchenozzle with a goatee. No. I became the proud owner of a Fu-Manchu. Immediately I could feel the effect. I developed a previously unseen bulge in my pants. I had muscles, whereas before I was built like 1991-era Dustin Diamond. My voice lowered and I became adept at juggling and long division. So this is what its like to be a man? Yes. Yes it is.
I liked this look. A little gay cowboy/YMCA meets hipster sheik. But it worked in a strange way. Bars up and down the coast of Southern California quivered in my presence. From the backseat of our minivan cab I repeatedly yelled at our cabbie, "I have a mustache!" and cackled maniacally. (I really did do that. Sadly, that's not made up.) This was the greatest day of my life. Later that night, I passed out. Was it from too much alcohol or too much testosterone? Results are inconclusive.
The next day I took a gamble. Whilst shaving and nursing a hangover that would slay the mighty Zeus, I decided to go one step further and shave this glorious Fu-Manchu into the patented 'motorcycle cop' look. So I did. There was a knock on my door almost immediately. Chris Hansen from 'Dateline NBC' stood there, his hair perfectly coiffed. I invited Chris and his camera crew in, offered to whip up some French Toast, and proceed to innocently tell him how much I love kids.
Let's be honest with each other. Let's call a David (spade) a David. I looked awfully creepy. What was once kitchy was now terrifying. It worked a little better when I was hearing a hipster t-shirt and a pair of Chip Wesley's aviator shades. But later in the day, when I had to throw on a nice shirt for Brant's wedding rehearsal? When the t-shirt comes off, so does the irony. Now I was just a nightmare for concerned parents everywhere. There goes the neighborhood.
Alas, that look only lasted half a day. After I shaved I felt really awkward. It was like Sampson (Ralph) without his hair. It was terrifying, but with the help of some expensive group counseling I was able to get over it. The recovery period wasn't pretty and I may end up relapsing into facial hair purgatory before it's all said and done.
I think a lot of good came out of my experiment. The world was held captive and followed me (and Dale) on my journey. If I inspired but one baby-faced man (or woman) to push their chips to the middle of the table and exclaim, "I'm all in", then I've done my job. Hop aboard the daddy's mustache and let's go for a ride. You'll see things you never could have imagined.
Day 18 (The Fu-Manchu)
Comments: Ok, I have dark black hair. Why the shit is my mustache brown, bordering on a whispy blonde? Oh Dale!
Comments: You can only partially see, but my t-shirt is just a blue shirt with a bearded guy's face on it, no explanation. It couldn't have been more appropriate.
Comments: One nasty side effect of the stache? I became a huge Rush Limbaugh guy. Well, not so much me as Dale. Dale loves to read.
Comments: The bright lights of the Dateline camera crew left me temporarily dazed.
Comments: No, I will not smile. Dale is not happy-go-lucky anymore. Dale is angry and not so much 'law abiding'.