Mistakenly Mustached

I've had some good blog ideas in the past couple of weeks; sadly, my mind has ceased to function properly, and, among the n functions that are malfunctioning lies my memory. Alas I will tell you story of a man who was once beautifully mustached.

Mustache (via)

-noun

1. the magnificent hair growing on the upper lip, empowering the male recipient to do many things, including, but not limited to, speaking Italian and firefighting.
2. such hair on men, allowed to grow without shaving, and often trimmed in any of various shapes, each as majestic as the preceding.

-adjective (i.e. mustach-ed)

1. of or pertaining to a powerful and intellectually advanced male who is a card-carrying mustachioed.
2. describes someone with a mustache.

I swear this post is not going to be about the mustache. I'm trying to tell a story about a once-mustached man: me. You know how I go off on tangents and try to convince my readers that mustaches are "coming back" and the "in" thing to have, etc. And I'm a true believer on the power a man can focus when properly mustached.

I shall proceed to illustrate my point and drive the proverbial nail further and further in until the general you form of the word you are convinced and thereby giving me even more power. Nyuk nyuk.

Game Stop and Twitter are two of my favorite things, as most of my "real" friends would know. If you really want to warm up to me, and can't find it in you to admit my correct stance on the stache debate, you can either send me a gift card for Game Stop or follow me, JLeonBell, on Twitter. If you're saying to yourself at this point, "Who does that 'Twitter' thing anyway," quite frankly, I do. And it's cool. Here's why.

Two of my favorite things, which I previously mentioned, teamed up; rather, Game Stop is on Twitter. It's not like they're working together or anything. Or maybe they are. Well it doesn't matter! Stop interrupting, brain! It's so frustrating when you don't have a mustache and hence are unable to stop your mind from wandering off in n + p different directions akin to a truck carrying boatload of bowling balls that suddenly finds its way into a tornado, tossing three-holed, spherically-shaped, dense matter in any of infinity trajectories. I find it amazing how I can take a simple story, like a Game Stop giveaway on Twitter and turn it into, well, this.

Yes, a Game Stop giveaway on Twitter. I was sitting there, casually wasting the world's oxygen supply, when I happened upon a tweet from Game Stop. Paraphrased, "We want to see your stash! Tweet us a picture of your stash and include #mystash for a chance to win a $500 gift card." See, Game Stop wants to warm up to me. So I sent them a picture. This picture.

I was purty proud of my stache. Wait. Stache... Stache ≠ Stash...

And then it hit me. Not too long before I tweeted them my "stash," I saw a different tweet from Game Stop. This one explicitly stated that they would be holding a $500 giveaway for the few lucky people who had the "best" game stash. In this case, stash = library = collection = pile up your games and take a picture of them and send it to them for a chance to win. I know that last sentence isn't a true equality, but you get the idea.

Do you understand what happened? I once sported a very beautiful mustache, and life was good. Girls flocked to me not unlike ants work together to carry away a few forgotten potato chips from Ben Affleck's picnic in "Armageddon" to their nest or hive or place of residence. Intellectualism beamed from just under my nostrils causing the lesser castes to acknowledge their lack of functioning brain cells and do my bidding. Automatic doors would open for me at the wave of a hand. All was right.

Then I shaved, and now look at me. End.