Mustaches

Mustaches are strange, mysterious creatures. I find myself repulsed when I see them on some men, but amazed by their wondrous shape and majestic qualities. Can you be disgusted by and in love with something all at the same time? I think so.

This is what I would look like with a mustache:

It's magnificent, isn't it? I mean... damn. That mustache is foxy.

I bring this up because of my other baby. While DeAngelo may have a terminal illness (DeAngelo is my fake biology son), my other baby is my car. His name is Dexter.

You see, Dexter recently grew a mustache. It is a mustache of endless magic and beauty, and I could not be prouder of my gas-guzzling son. Here are some pictures of him:

Dexter doesn't like the snow all too much.

Growing Dexter's mustache was probably the best decision he ever made. Not only does he win the attention of all the lady cars, but he makes people happy. You just can't frown when you look at facial hair that perfectly constructed.

Such a stud.