Edgar Allen Poe Simon K----k Presents: "The Mustache"
Once upon a midday dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary,
As many a quaint and fermented libation the traders did pour,
While I sat there, cleanly shaven, suddenly there came complaining,
As though someone were campaigning, campaigning for a facial chore.
" 'Tis a silly bet," I muttered, "growing lip hair I abhor;
Sheer folly, and nothing more."
Ah, distinctly I remember, it was in the bleak November,
And the wager's growing members wrought their cash in mounds galore.
Instantly I sought advice - seems each man has his own price -
So it was then I grew enticed, enticed to be a mustache whore.
For a sum of thousand-threefold, I would commence a mustache war
Lasting months, in total four.
Thus the facial hair did fester, making me look a molester
And while this reality did pester, I could not turn back anymore
So that now, to still the bleating of my dame, I stood repeating
"'Tis but a mustache fleeting for a bet I must explore
Will sprout a mustache fleeting for a bet I must explore
This it is, and nothing more,"
So with the girlfriend freshly bribed, 'twas to the mustache I subscribed
Teammates' laughter barely described - Jo-Al, Dan, Stan, and Trevor -
Much harassed, and not undaunted, facial hair my life has haunted
End in sight is all I wanted - these whiskers I do deplore
Will this 'stache go on forever? Tell me truly, I implore!
Quoth the mustache, "Evermore."
This is what happens to me when there is a writer's strike and I have nothing to rot my brain properly.
Poe's "The Raven"