If you are somehow illiterate then I am not sure what you are doing here anyway.
The only reason I've noticed the colder weather more than usual is because of No Shave November. In order to prepare for the mystical month where men refuse basic hygiene, I shaved my beard. That was my first mistake. My fair skin was woefully unprepared for the bitter cold. I'm happily one week into November with just enough scruff to annoy my girlfriend and not enough to strike a match against.
There is another take on No Shave November. Movember. From what I have gathered, Movember wants men to grow mustaches (becoming Mo Bros) and be sponsored for it. The money raised goes towards research towards prostate cancer. I wish I could take part. Alas, I cannot grow a mustache worth sponsoring. So this post is dedicated to the mustache and we shall start with my all time, hands down, favorite mustache. A mustache fit for a Dictator, if you will.
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| A mustache is worth 1000 words. However, this one can be summed up in a simple few: I like to kill my own people, but you have to love me, anyway.
Yes, I do wish I could grow Stalin's mustache. A close second for me would be Dali's, but I lack Dali's eccentricity much in the same way I lack Stalin's drive for power. It isn't the man that chooses the mustache, but the mustache that chooses the man. (And the one that chose Hitler not only regrets its decision for choosing, well, Hitler, but also because it is by far one of the ugliest variations of the mustache I have ever seen.)
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| I'm glad he was such an asshole that this never caught on |
I wish my fellow gentleman a simple and quick Movember. To wrap up this lovely presentation on the mustache, I present to you this lovely image, A Mustache Makes a Difference:
