Tuesday, October 19, 2010

Handlebar moustaches

Back in the days of Victorian gents and Wild West outlaws, dudes waxed the ends of their bushy moustaches until they could poke a cowpoke in the eye. While an excellent way to mask a questionable cold sore, these crumb-catchers and coat-hangers have no place in modern society. We now have ample access to napkins, so I have to deduce that you’re trying to make a follicular style statement.

You are definitely making a statement, Wyatt Twerp, and it doesn’t say “steampunk.” It says, “steaming pile of oh HELL no.” Trim that fucker down into a lustrous Magnum, PI or I'm going to go Sweeney Todd with a straightedge. Now, that's steampunk.

And don't think you're off the hair hook, mutton chop sideburns, I'm coming for you next.

(photo: 39x21.blogspot.com)


mduette said...

Fine points all.
I maintain the "handle" part is so you can grab each side (wearing gloves, of course) and scream "YOU LOOK LIKE AN EEJIT!"

Rhonda said...

Yay! That's my punch from FB! Thanks, the handlebar TRULY deserved it!

Rhonda said...

Oh, and I think they seem like they are BEGGING you to grab each end and swiftly yank down for a firm knee to the nose. Eh?

Fanboy Wife said...

I think that it is perfectly excusable to sport this sort of mustache if one frequently ties people to the railroad tracks.

ThoughtShot said...

Isn't this a disorder of some kind? These meticulously 'stached characters are always so obsessed with their face art that it makes you wonder what they are compensating for: No pubic hair? Quick, look up here, this ought to distract you! Truly bizarre.

Mr Disposal said...

I have a handlebar mustache. Try and punch me. PS - I'm dapper as fuck, haters.

Salvador said...

Hey there,

I've got a twisty facial appendage, and the women adore it. It has proven to be quite handy up here in Canada; during the winter, I needn't worry about frostbite on the lips (a common ailment amongst my colleagues). It serves as a beer flavour-saver; any time I want another smidge of that wonderful Montréal micro-stout, I just have to extend my tongue outwards as if to catch snowflakes, and I'm blessed with the remnants of suds past. Although I feel that it is not a style for everyone, those capable of sporting it with confidence and care should by all means do so. My hirsute appendage has passed the test, and has established itself as something to be treasured, admired, savoured.

Also, it serves to cushion the impact of fists travelling at high velocity.