I’m cresting the rise, looking over the dizzying precipice and down the drop, then up again a little, through a corkscrew, then upside down and back through an inversion of the track. That’s right, if this was Great America, I’d be the Moustache Ride, and right about know, you’d be wishing you never got on board ’cause this wooden track don’t look so sturdy.
I’m over halfway through this terrible idea and the thicker my moustache gets, the more I realize how much I took my clean upper lip for granted. All of the strange smells that used to just glance off, or could at least be scrubbed out, are now with me forever. Nevermind what exactly I’m talking about. Children read this blog. I’ll persevere, though.
On a side note, I thought of a slogan for my ‘stache. I’ve been reading Grapes of Wrath, which always reminds me of this photo of the friend of the farmin’ man, Woody Guthrie.
Damn right, Woody. Damn right.
To donate to my Mo’vember campaign, a fund raiser for the Prostate Cancer Foundation, visit http://us.movember.com/donate/donate-search.php, and enter my registration number:1356986.