sharplittleteeth: (Default)
There comes a time in every man's life where he stands in front of the bathroom mirror, with a razor blade in one hand and a moustache comb in the other.

And he is forced to ask himself: what sort of man am I?

What do I believe?

Am I the sort of man who wears a muttonchop moustache?

The Answers under the cut... )
sharplittleteeth: (Default)
The last days of Movember are upon us, bringing the Gentlemen's Moustache Duel to a climax!

Before we post the last devastating round of pictures, we should tell you, gentle readers, a little abuot how such duels are judged.

There are two classic rulebooks for judging a Gentlemen's Moustache Duel.

The first is the so-called "Brown Book" (Bartleby's Guide to Ranking and Classification of The Gentlemen's Moustache, 1856). This book was the standard for decades, until Sebastian Richmond, Esq. won the All England Championship in 1903 by exploiting a technical loophole in the rules - he grafted a live ermine to his upper lip.

It was a sight of rare majesty and beauty, and holds the distinction of being the only moustache to ever bite the judges. But the ensuing controversy nearly killed the sport.

And so was written the Revised Rules, which remain in use today. The rules are concise, clearly written, and explicitly forbid the use of small mammals.

The Revised Rules also include helpful guidelines on applying them to the different flavours of Moustache Duel, from formal tournaments to demonstration bouts to their use as a means of settling legal disputes.

But I've blathered on too much.

Perhaps my esteemed opponent [livejournal.com profile] drzero  would care to run us through the basic criteria on which a Moustache Duel is judged, and then outline the procedure whereby you, our beloved readers, may judge the final champion?
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It's the last few days of Movember. I'll be taking The Moustache out for its final public appearance on Friday night at Caberet Nocturne's 5th Birthday party, if you want to bathe in its magnificence for one last time.

Except... People keep telling me to keep it.

And not just babbling crazy people covered in bread crumbs and dirt. Friends. People I trust. Even The Girlfriend has bashfully admitted she wouldn't mind if I kept it.

What do you think?



Should I shave or should I mo now?
Should I shave or should I mo now?
If I mo, there will be trouble
And if I shave, it will be stubble
So come on and let me know
Should I shave or should I mo?




sharplittleteeth: (Default)
By the third week, the strain is beginning to show...



Still. There is charity at stake, and so the Gentleman's Moustache Duel continues.

A Few Explanatory Notes:

It occurs to me that many of our readers may not be familiar with the lost art of Gentlemen's Moustache Duelling, and therefore a few short notes on the tactics and history of the sport may enliven the spectacle for them.

I myself am employing the Higgens-Fitzhugh manoeuvre.

Named after Sir Walter Higgens-Fitzhugh (All England Moustache Champion from 1893 to 1897, and again in 1904), this strategy relies on size and ferocity to intimidate one's opponents. It depends, however, on one's innate hirsuteness. And once the initial shock has worn off, an agile and cunning opponent can often find a suitable riposte.

My esteemed opponent [livejournal.com profile] drzero  has instead opted for the Dorchester gambit.

It is named of course after the infamous Baron of Dorchester, but popularised by the Antipodean actor Errol Flynn. In this technique, one marshalls all one's reserves of panache and savoir fare and focuses them down into a razor-thin line of impact.

It is a difficult manoeuvre to pull off, but if successful the results are devastating.

And there we have it, ladies, gentlemen and gender-neutral goodpersons. A battle of brute strength versus technique and flair! Of savagery versus civilisation! Of barbarity versus barbers!

Stay tuned, gentle readers. Only a week remains!


In Conclusion:


And if you have been at all entertained by this most manly of contests, I urge you to consider making a small donation to the worthy cause of men's health. You may donate to my own humble efforts, or shower praise and glory upon that of my most worthy foe.

NaMoWriMo

Nov. 18th, 2008 09:22 am
sharplittleteeth: (Default)
NaNoWriMo + Movember = NaMoWriMo, the National Moustache Writing Month.

[profile] jan_event 's entry is here. Mine follows:


After the band split up, Bluey was left with three things: his 1962 Fender Precision bass, the scars on his knuckles, and his muttonchop moustache.

The label took back their advance. The bank foreclosed his house. And a pair of pimple-faced groupies stole all his clothes. Even his sunglasses were borrowed. Scottish Joe lent them to him at Sunbury '74, and had been asking for them back ever since.

"You need a new band," said Scottish Joe.

They were shooting pool together at the Corner Hotel. It was Wednesday afternoon and the pub was empty. The only things moving were the flies and Scottish Joe's mouth. Bluey lined up a shot, but it bounced off the rim of the pocket.

"Do you hear me, you sulky bastard? You need a new band. Someone fresh. On their way up." Joe tried to poke Bluey with his pool cue, but Bluey slapped it away.

"You sniffing speed again?" Bluey said.

"Fuck yes. Want some?"

Bluey shook his head. Scottish Joe wasn't actually Scottish. He was from some weird town in South Australia where everyone was descended from Glaswegian sailors or something. Before he was a manager, he'd been a small-time pot dealer. He had to switch careers because he smoked more than he sold.

"So who's the band?"

"I never said I had a band," grinned Scottish Joe. "They're called Japanese Peaches. They're from Albury, just moved down. Young, but they're gonna be huge. Huge!"

"And they need a bass player?"

"Their old one had a wife and child. Wouldn't let him move."

"Japanese Peaches." Bluey thought about it. "Sounds like a poofter name. They're not fucking glam, are they?"

"Pub rock," said Scottish Joe. He looked Bluey straight in the eye as he said it, the one sure sign he was lying.

Bluey sipped his beer. He was sleeping on his mum's couch at the moment. She'd turned his old bedroom into a sewing room and refused to turn it back. A grown man, a barbarian of rock and roll, reduced to sleeping on his mother's couch.

"Okay," he said.

"Excellent! Excellent decision." Scottish Joe slapped Bluey on the back. "Just one thing, though. It's the Eighties now, yeah? Got to move with the times."

Bluey scowled. "What?"

"The moustache. It's got to go."

"Fuck. Off."

"Come on. You look like a gay San Franciscan leather boy, not a Japanese Peach."

And that's when Bluey punched him.



sharplittleteeth: (Default)
[livejournal.com profile] drzero and I caught up in person at Neef's housewarming last night, and compared progress in our Traditional Gentlemen's Moustache Duel.

His moustache is very dapper, very slim and elegant. Even, dare I say it, a little bit poetic. It is the perfect moustache for the good Doctor.

And mine? Yes. Well. Less with dapper.

[livejournal.com profile] jan_event  demanded a photo. Wearing a hat. And so...
 

 Moustache. Hat. Cut for your own protection. )

I'm concerned by the number of people who tell me it suits me.

Yes, it adds defintion to my jawline. But that's just shallow appearances.

Do people know me so little that they think this monstrosity of unruly hair somehow reflects my soul?


(This is all for charity, folks. Donations accepted here.)

sharplittleteeth: (Default)
As part of Movember, [livejournal.com profile] drzero  and I are engaged in an old-fashioned Gentleman's Moustache Duel. Expect weekly updates on the progress of our respective facial hair.

And so, without further ado:



Technically, this is cheating. The rules specify you have to grow a moustache. Goatees and beards*  are forbidden.

But I figure you've got to grow a hedge before you can trim it. I'll be turning the fuzz into a proper moustache over the weekend. The question is... what style?

Stay tuned!

And thank you to everyone who has donated so far.

* Yes, yes. Stop laughing, [personal profile] mr_e_cat .



sharplittleteeth: (Default)


1st of Movember. Participants must start clean shaven.
sharplittleteeth: (Default)
My father was treated for prostate cancer earlier this year. He's all clear now, thankfully.

Next month is Movember, a month long event to raise awareness and funds for men's health issues,  specifically depression and prostate cancer.

So I've signed up.

The idea is, I grow a moustache during November. People are then so moved by my facial hair that they make donations to the Movember fund, which donates them on to the Prostate Cancer Foundation of Australia and beyondblue, the national depression initiative.

(I'm not sure if your donations are to encourage me to grow the moustache, or to make sure I shave the hideous thing off come December 1.)

You can donate online here using PayPal or credit card.

And here's an artist impression of what I might look like:



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