There comes a time in every man’s life when he inexplicably decides “Today is the day I grow a mustache.” It’s a longstanding biological cycle that dates back two millennia, around the time when Jesus Christ grew a handlebar mustache during his forty day temptation in the desert (picture not available). Recently, following in this great tradition, I have taken the plunge into haired upper lip-dom.
Right now I’m on about Day 3 and, quite frankly, things aren’t going so well. At this point I’m still in the thirteen-year-old-kid-who-hit-puberty-early-but-doesn’t-have-a-father-to-teach-him-shave phase, so I kind of look like Brian did. If you don’t know Brian, just think of the kid you went to middle school with that fits the description of the above hyphenate—that’s Brian. Remember Brian? Dude had a hairy lip.
Despite my slow start, I have high expectations. The artist’s rendering below gives an idea of what I predict my fully grown mustache will look like:
To say the mustache will be Super Mario-esque would be an understatement. I expect greater volume, thickness, and food-storing capacity than the lovable Nintendo star’s nose tickler, plus the added sexiness of Luigi’s. On top of that, you’ll notice that my mustache has a few hints of gray, giving it a distinguished quality that only comes from years of mustache experience. I anticipate my body will sense my commitment to the mustache and instinctually generate gray hair to fit this assumption, despite the fact that I’ve yet to find a gray hair anywhere else on my entirely blonde head. In the event that I can’t bend the rules of my own physiology, there’s always Touch of Gray®.
It could be a tough road, but no one said it was going to be easy. When Jesus rocked that handlebar for forty starving nights, the Devil didn’t give him pointers on proper trimming. When Brian grew his first fuzzy meal saver, his father didn’t come rushing home from his new family’s house with an Art of Shaving kit. No, they did it on their own and so will I. This is my destiny. This is my manly rite of passage. This is my Marchstache.
My name is t.j. and if this blog inspires you, then join me.
(posted by josh golden)
36 Mafia was right: It’s hard out here for a pimp. It may be time for a career change. Something a little more stable, a little less spontaneous…
Oh shit, what is this? I just got a message on my face book.
“Join the LAPD, START TRAINING NOW!!”
The LAPD has a questionable past of making poor decisions, but they just broke their losing streak by coming to me. I am going to become a cop, it’s a perfect fit.
But Josh, you don’t have a degree in criminal justice. Being a police officer is not easy; it’s tireless work that requires an iron will and a passion for the community. Nuh-uh. The pictures from the add assure me that the days of bureaucratic red tape, standards of procedure, and strong judgment skills are dead and gone. This is not your grandfathers LAPD. This is fucking extreme!
Look, you get a Lamborghini and a license to kill; you even get a uniform straight from the set of the Fifth Element. I frequently get these damn ads for elite fighting groups and I am just waiting for Backwater to give me a call thanks to my listed interests in Nerf guns and Halo.
If you go around advertising the police force as hella-hardcore and balls-to-the-wall to men whose only real experience with justice is The Punisher, don’t be surprised when this happens.
My name is Josh and this uniform makes my ass look awesome.