I'm pretty blue this is the last moustache may. It's been really groovy getting to know many of you great dudes out there. We stick together. We wear a moustache because, because, well, we're men, and we're gonna prove it. We relish the thought of 63 year old scotches and Cubano cigars. We like looking sharp, and whats sharper than an expertly trimmed moustache? Nothing, I say.
We enjoy football, Labrador Retrievers, and breasts. We come from all walks of life. (Somewhere right now a Fortune five hundred executive sits in his office, envious of the man cleaning his office. The man dusts the offices surfaces, unloads the garbage, and strokes his super wicked handlebar. The CEO wishes he was that much of a man. But lo, he cannot grow a moustache, so he buys Maseratis and pays outrageously for Manhattans finest "escorts.")
We are lotharios. Men of a certain swagger. Rare musks and busts of Zeus adorn the tops of our bureaus, situated next to framed black and white photos of The Rat Pack, and that hostesses bra from Saturday. We never eat a well done Porterhouse. Blasphemous.
We are hardworking, genuine, and hung. We are brethren at the table of Thor, sipping a super single malt with Ron Burgundy and Groucho Marx. We don't go to strip clubs. We eat New York Strip Steaks and belong to the most elite of private clubs. We lather, shave, repeat, being diligent to avoid ruining our pride and joy.
Hitler did't kill himself, we did. He was sullying the clubs image with that hair on his lip. It had to be done!
As you men continue your meaningful lives works, remember this; we are men. We must act like it. Try to give back and take the high road. Enjoy life to the fullest, but stay grounded. A hard days work is the fertilizer in our moustache gardens, so work hard and smile alot. That moustache you have really makes that smile "pop."
Take care friends. Keep it growing. Savor the flavor. We, the few, the proud, we band of brothers.