NOTES:
Thank you for inviting me to your Beard Saloon, Whiskerton. I cannot wait to meet your friends.
Whiskerton: Yeah, well, just make sure to be cool. My buddies are a little rougher than me.
PF: I AM COOLNESS PROFESSORFIED. Do not fret. I am sure your chums are just as lovely and comfy to hug and hold as you are!
Whiskerton: Oh boy.
?: HEY, TARVIS – WHO’S THE DEFORMED MOUSTACHIO?
Whiskerton: Oh, hey Face-Fist, this ain’t a Moustachio. It’s my new friend, Fred.
Face-Fist: Looks like a deformed Moustachio to me. We don’t let moustaches in here. This is a BEARDS ONLY saloon!
PF: Face-Fist? Why he is ADORABLE.
Face-Fist: Tarvis, tell your Moustachio spy buddy to stop huggin’ on me right quick.
PF: What’s this stuck in your hair? A decorative seashell?
Face-Fist: It’s broken glass!
Whiskerton: Fred, please don’t hug Face-Fist.
PF: You got it, chumly!
Face-Fist: I oughta smash that little Moustachio into paste!
?: I wouldn’t mess with that there Moustachio, Face-Fist, he’s got all kinds of scars all over him. He must be a real bad dude!
Face-Fist: I don’t know…
PF: This place is so EXOTIC, Whiskerton. All the little beards playing cards and spitting right on the floor – I am just dee-lighted by Discovery!
Whiskerton: Fred, try to calm down. Do you want a drink?
PF: Surely! You do not have Ginger Fizz, do you?
Whiskerton: Naw, but we got Beard Beer. It’s made from Hair Root!
PF: Flavorful follicles! Magnificent! I think! Barkeep, two Beard Beers – one for me and one for my deeply intimate acquaintance, Whiskerton!
Bartender: You sure this guy is cool, Tarvis?
Whiskerton: He’s cool. He’s just from some foreign place where everyone’s got developmental problems, apparently.
PF: I am working on an advanced degree!
Bartender: Two Beard Beers then…
Whiskerton: Let’s just play Stache Darts for a little bit and then we’ll go home, okay Fred? Here, just try throwin’ ‘em at that target.
PF: All righty! How does one throw?
* C R A S H ! *
PF: Sorry! Let me try again.
* r e E E R !*
PF: Oops – sorry, tumblescruff creature! Curse my clumsy nubbins. Last one!
Face-Fist: Hey!
Whiskerton: Oh no.
Face-Fist: What’s the idea? You just threw a stache into my face! MY FACE!!!
PF: My bad! I am more book-smart than arm and coordination-smart…
Face-Fist: I oughta barbecue yer brisket!
PF: Come now, friend – let us not be a Big Beard Baby now.
Face-Fist: There’s a STACHE on my FACE!
Whiskerton: I think we better get out of here, Fred.
PF: No, no! We should be able to enjoy our evening just as everyone else. I shall not let one dour albeit adorable Beard keep me from sitting here and enjoying my Beard Beer!
*sip*
*THHHPPPPP!!!* THIS IS DISGUSTING!
Whiskerton: Oh no oh no oh no…
PF: How can one stomach this bilious slop? Drinking it is akin to sucking on a hairball soaked in garbage water! Oh what now Big Baby Fist-Face, I suppose you do not like having Beer spat into your stache face?
Face-Fist: I’m gonna fustigate ya!
Bartender: Wait, Face-Fist! Look at all them scars: he’s clearly a BAD dude!
Face-Fist: Well let’s see how the bad dude likes beer all over HIS face!
*sploosh!*
Bartender: Hey, wait a sec… His scars are washing off! He’s a phony!
?: Yeah, he’s just some Moustachio with a fleshy, plaid sack attached to it! GROSS!
Whiskerton: Let’s get outta here, Fred!
Baby ‘Stache: Don’t huwt my Mama!
PF: Moustachia, what are you doing here? You are not of age!
Face-Fist: Another Moustachio in here! I knew he was one o’ them flyin’ dandies! Get ‘em, boys!
PF: Foots, do not fail me now!
Current Mood: Running!
Discoveries Made: The limits of good manners!
Hereinto referenced: Beard Saloon ¤ Face-Fist ¤ Moustachia ¤ Moustachio Territory ¤ Whiskerton
S H H H H H H O O O O O M M M !
