ÿþMemoirs of a Moustache
There was a calm air in the field. A light breeze tickled the hairs on his top lip. He looked out into the sunset, gazing upon the last beautiful sight he would see before he went to war. He turned and looked at his inky-haired maiden. The gap between them, seeming everlasting as twinkies ($99 at Walmart), closed as her suffocating aroma of Asian No. 5 wafted on the air, smelling of sweet Chinese bliss. Their lips met, his moustache filling her soul. She felt and tasted the rainbow. Yet there was something wrong with their embrace, something missing. He could not taste the sugary goodness.
They turned away, facing oppositely away from eachother as the sun continued to set as stated in above paragraph.
"Are you... cukoo for coco-puffs?" she asked gently, doubt filling her voice.
"Yes!" he said, his voice starved for love.
"Why... I also love coco-puffs! She was the greatest turkey I've ever had the pleasure to meet."
He turned back around, his moustach