North of the Lip, South of the Nose
Our family is different. To begin with, we’re not a family. We’re not even people. We’re a bunch of moustaches on vacation.
There’s this little island in the South Pacific that we go to. We stay at a place called Moustache Beach. “No beards allowed” is our joke. Ha ha. 2 years ago this friggin’ Van Dyke tried to sneak in. He was all trying to be stuffy and classy like he was from England, even though he’s all Jersey. He was like, “I say chaps, I’m part moustache. Be sporting and let me in. Harumph!” We showed him which side the stubble chaffs!
Sometimes we’ll let a goatee or two join us cause we feel sorry for them. They’re like failed moustaches. Wannabees. Hell, they’re alright. Just don’t get them talking about beatniks or Ethan Hawke.
This year is great. They got this new bartender at the hotel who makes a dynamite rum punch that’ll knock you off your whiskers. I’ve been hittin’ it with my buddy Mick. He’s an Aussie handlebar. My name’s Steve. I’m sort of a 70’s style porn ‘stache from Olympia. The face I call home is totally not like that. His name’s Ted and he’s a temp. I thought I could influence him, but he just likes to watch cartoons, eat salad, and make things out of toothpicks. That’s why I have to get away; to cut loose and let my hair down (ha!)
Today after the beach (the sun’s bringing out my blonde highlights), I went downtown with Mick, Fong (fu Manchu), Ric (pencil moustache), and Jean-Luc (French). And this gang of old razors starts sweatin’ us.
“Well, well. It’s the moustaches on vacation,” says this nasty looking Bic. He’s all rusty and I could see dark hairs sticking out from the blade. You gotta be careful with these guys.
“That’s right,” Fong says calmly.
“I haven’t shaved a moustache in a long time.” I see bits of dried blood on the blade. Man, I hate these guys!
“Hey razor, we’re just having a good time. Maybe you should step off,” I suggest.
“Easy mate,” Mick whispers.
“Cut him man,” says a Gillette Mach 3 way past his prime.
“You couldn’t cut butter punk!”
“Ease off baby,” Ric says.
“No, I’m not easing off. I’m hella mad! It’s go time!”
Being all hair kinda sucks in a fight. Razors are dumb and violent though and they just started slashing everywhere. This straight edge grazes me.
“Mon dieu!” Jean-Luc cries, dodging a Nerelco electric.
“Ball!” Mick yells. We get into a big hair ball and knock those razors down like bowling pins! And once they’re down, they take their time getting up. We laugh and beat it.
“Awesome! ‘Staches representin’!”
“Crickey!” Mick says. We head back to the hotel to shower and hit the bar. I’m going home tomorrow and am a little sad. But I’ll never forget this week; our fight with the razors, my friends, and all the fun we had at Moustache Beach
*Soon to be a major motion picture staring Colin Farrell and Tom Selleck’s moustache!
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Portland Fiction Project
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