Tourstache

When packing for a rocknroll weekend, I always leave my razor at home. I have no idea why I do this, but it is very important to me. Occasionally on the road, you’re left with no options except to enjoy being gross, dirty, sweaty. When you’re unshaven, you can truly embrace this. It’s a different life, you see. Tour Life.

Only when I return home to Real Life can I notice and appreciate the strip of comedy that’s grown on my upper lip. It’s hard to get rid of it immediately. Perhaps because it reminds me of all the drunken epiphanies, talking pinball machines and whatnot. So, I wear a tourstache for a little while from time to time.

My moustache has been compared to a wide gamut of personae, ranging from John Waters to Child Molester. It’s funny when I go to a bar, because the bartender assumes I’m some jackass teenager trying to outsmart them with some pathetic facial hair, when really I’m just an idiot who doesn’t know what a “wide gamut” is. If only you could see the look of disappointment on their face when I show them my ID.

(note: there's an incredibly relevant Kids in the Hall sketch for this entry, but the internet has failed me)