stache

for hopefully the only day of my life, i have a mustache. in fact, if for some reason i should die today, i would really like someone to shave off the mustache before my burial. actually, fuck that: keep the mustache, send my body to a taxidermist, and stuff it in an “attack mode” pose. if this is a taxidermist worth his salt, he will know what you mean by that. then put me in one of those museum dioramas next to a raccoon and a stream full of fake trout.

speaking of attack mode, teen plant has a SURPRISE ATTACK show tonight at the midway in jamaica plain. we go on around 9pm. i have no idea how to get there.

——-UPDATE——

coworkers: blah blah blah ian mcewan
me, strolling out of my cube: hey! are you guys talking about “atonement”? i love that b
female coworker 1: oh SHIT.
female coworker 2: uh… nice mustache.
female coworker 3:
me: oh, right. um, i had a beard for a while
fc1: yeah we remember.
me: right, so it was time to get rid of it, but um… my band has a show tonight.
fc3:
me: so we’re all… uh.
fc2: you guys all have mustaches?
me: no, it’s… it’s just me.
fc1:
fc2:
me:
fc2:
fc1:
fc3:
me:
fc2:
fc3:
fc1:
me:
fc3: you look like a child molester.