"Moustaches are for perverts and child molesters." ...................................

"Moustaches are for perverts and child molesters." Michelle Pariset once informed me.

I was playing a role in a comedy skit requiring me to wear a mustache. I picked one from Broadway Costume's extensive collection of "Real Human Hair Mustaches," wondering where this real human hair came from. I knew there were better options than working for a living and I always kept an eye out for exciting new careers, like "Facial Hair Farmer." I took my real human hair and promptly glued it to my real human face. It was then that my whole world changed.

I'd discovered the wonders of instant pariah. I ventured into the video store to pick up The Best of COPS, which we were using in our skit. The hip young lady at the counter regarded me coldly, giving me a sneer as she looked at the title I was renting.

"This stuffs hilarious" I offered. Another sneer.

Suddenly thanks to the state of my upper lip I was not a down town scenester laughing at the Best of COPS but rather a hopeless square laughing with the Best of COPS.

My once cool retro duds were now just out of date wannabe wear.

My shaggy hair no longer represented my free spirit and lack of corporate employment but rather suggested an inability to let go of the glory days of my teenage years. All because of a wee bit of real human hair.

I took my video and headed toward home in my '71 VW bus. I gave the old peace sign to another bus along the way as is tradition between VW drivers. In response I got a look that suggested I belonged in a bitchin camaro. No return peace sign was offered. Stupid hippie.

Sitting at a stop sign by Faces, the local gay hot spot, I finally got some friendly hellos. More in fact than I'd gotten on any previous occasion when I'd found myself passing through the lavender part of town. I waved back and admired a few very well groomed mustaches myself before heading on my way.

Once home I found several messages from my partner in this skit, Kevin.

"Dude, the mustache has got to go. Everybody hates me. My kids hate me. I'm shaving."

Kevin had previously worn a full beard and shaved the bottom half to be in character. Why such a different reaction?

"The beard says Santa, or daddy." Kevin informs me, "The mustache says pimp."

I talked Kevin into keeping his 'stache for a few more days so we could finish our project and then I headed to the Gas and Go for some carbonation. The cop that hung out there all night every night, sipping Slurpies and explaining to the counter jockey how Sacramento cops were so underpaid said "Good evenin'" and then he gave me a nod. He'd never said a word to me before. I got in line. "Some great weather tonight eh?" Was he talking to me? This was too much. Did I belong to some strange fraternal order now?

"Watch out for those chili dogs, they'll get you." I warned my new found buddy and gave him a little pat on the tummy as I left the store.

Since this time I have worn a John Waters pencil mustache which caused little gay raver boys at Burning Man to offer drugs to all of my buddies but none to me. I've worn a fu-manchu which got me out of a speeding ticket. And since growing a mustache just like the fake one I'd glued on for the comedy skit my wife has left me, my dog wont be seen in public with me, and I've been excommunicated from the Jehovas Witness church despite the fact that I'd never even belonged to the Jehova's Witness church. Oh well, I have a fabulous new friend name Bruce and he's a fantastic dancer. And for some strange reasons most of the donut shops in town are giving me a discount?