The other night, I had the strangest dream. So many stories begin this way (maybe?), but don’t fuck with me: in this dream I had such an amazing mustache you probably weren’t going to be able to disagree with me ever again. It was a “win-win” mustache, meaning that if you liked it, I was the winner, and if you disliked it, I was also the winner. Winning was easy with a mustache so beautiful and appropriate. In our age, mustaches are weird because they are the butt of jokes. This was an unjokeable mustache. If you tried to make fun of me in this dream, I probably would have been elected president just to fuck with you. It was a beautiful mustache.
Do I want a mustache now? Not really.
Do I finally believe in happiness? Yes.