I look, if I may say so, boss. Like a TV cop from the seventies.
Seriously, this thing provides its own swagger. Can a face even swagger?
How could a face swagger?
How could my face swagger?
No idea, but let’s face it, face, you fucking swagger.
It’s the perfect accompaniment to a face that already brings so much to the table, adding maturity and masculinity to my already considerable supply of charm.
And I love it.
I know I say this every year, but this time I mean it. When Movember comes to an end, I’m keeping the ‘Stache.
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