I'm trying to grow a handlebar mustache.
It's harder than it sounds.
I've been at it since October, and I think I'm finally starting to make some progress. Not that you can tell. No stubble yet. No whiskers. No 5 o'clock shadow, or 4 o'clock shadow. It ain't even noon yet as far as my upper lip is concerned, but I'm not worried. I have a plan: I am on a serious diet of black olives, stout beer, raw garlic by the head, and green bananas, and it's really starting to work. So far I've only sprouted hair on my chest, but I figure my face has got to be next. I'll be stachin with the best of them soon.
I know it's hot, but try to control yourself.
Why am I growing a mustache, you ask? Well, the answer is simple.
It's proof. Proof that I really can do anything I put my mind to. Proof that will sit prominently on my face like a furry dead rodent of enlightenment for all the world to see.