People say you can’t judge a book by it’s cover and that first impressions aren’t everything. That’s true. But nothing sets a man apart and stands out more than a rich molestache. A molestache speaks to one and says: behind this hair strip is a man with integrity. A man who wears his Levi’s ‘fitted’. A man who chews gum with the ferocity and focus of one running from the bulls in Pamplona. A man who lets freedom reign. A man named Burt. A man named Tom. A man. An American. A man that can withstand extreme snow and temperatures and doesn’t tremble when his molestache is frozen over with icicles that remind you of the day you learned about stalagmites in science class. Both him and his stache appeal to all the senses. Like the smell of fresh dew on an old broken-in saddle, his dickduster commanded attention of every eligible sniffer in the room.

This is a tribute to you, Mr. Moleststache.

Let Freedom hang.