11 July 2012

Moustache Madness

I am the mofo'in moustache!
My goal in life: to 'stache out the sun.
If only I could get off his stupid face
then the world would see, they'd see the real me.
I'd dance and frolic through fields of sunflowers,
and allergies wouldn't mean me covered in boogers!
Blerghh, I hate allergies. Almost as much as I hate boogers.
I remember his younger days, 'stacheless in Ann Arbor,
what a naive fool. Then she came along, begging for me
I could hear my name beckoned and so I came forth
with the might of a thousand facial hairs.
He's since been called a pornstar, a pedophile, a philosopher.
And so on his face, I'll continue to thrive.
And just before he goes all Clooney on me,
and the moment is ever just right,
POOF, I'll prove my sentience, and sucede from his face,
and in one fellow sayonara, I'll outdo Dali, Yosemite Sam,
Hitler, Groucho and Goulet. Even the supernova of the sun
won't stop me. Fwoop. Darkness.

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