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Me Likey Your Soul Patch

It wasn’t that dinner was completely lame or that we had nothing to talk about.  It’s just that this stack of yellow post-it notes was also on the table.  And well, if one person can tear out a mustache and a soul patch.  Ain’t no reason we all can’t.

Only the notion of each of us in our staches does strange things.  We are no longer ourselves.  We speak new languages.  Or the same one with a crummy accent.

“Jefe’, would you say there are a plethora of post-it notes on the table?”

“Si, El Guapo.  There are a plethora of post-it notes on the table and the floor.”

“Jefe’, would you say it’s bed time for the small ones in beards?”

“Si, El Guapo.  And I would add that your new mustache is looking less guapo all the time.”

And then a soul patch or two would unstick itself or fly off in mid-run to the mirror.  Or someone would tear themselves out new accessories.  Or we’d realize we’d torn up a whole stack of post-it notes for, uh, entertainment.

Only *shrug* it wouldn’t matter in the least.  We’ve certainly paid more to laugh less.  Just not tonight.


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