Stand-Alone-Stach #3

The Stach takes control. I open my eyes to the shout "...and, ACTION!" Cautiously I look around and take stock of my new Stach predicament. I appear to be on a movie set of some type. Judging by the hair, collars, gold chains, and cigars it must be the mid-seventies. By the look on everyone's faces I must be expected to do something...just what I'm not sure. From the stage settings I appear to be a very ill dressed pizza delivery boy.

I knock on the door in front of me. It opens and I ask, "Anyone order a pizza?"

The scantly clad women before me answer suggestively without words. From nowhere a funky seventies baseline fills the room. I cannot repeat what happens next. Needless to say this Stach causes a number of little deaths.

I give you: 70's Adult Film Stach

Stand-Alone-Stach #2

Today's Stach took me to exotic Hawaii, circa 1980. These were fast times with swinging beach babes and cool cars. But there was a dark underside. Drug dealing and general criminal mayhem was rampant. An elite police team called Hi-Five, oh...is that the name....wait...something like that...anyway was just canceled...er disbanded, and crime was back. I don't know how to dance Hula, but the stach provided me a job as a Private Investigator under the name, Colt PI. In no time at all I find a rich benefactor who likes my idea of non-lethal vigilante justice and my ability to ferret out a seemingly endless supply of attractive women who, by no fault of their own, are caught in impossibly complicated situations. I take up residence in the benefactor's guest house, swill free beer from an endless beer fridge, and tool around in his Ferrari. Strangely I never meet the rich guy, I just interact with his ambiguously gay butler. For kicks I also pick up a black helicopter pilot sidekick, who doesn't want one of those?

I did this for about eight seasons...er years. I was finally killed in one of my adventures in a freak accident involving taro root, a lei, a beach fire dance, a coconut drink, and another Hawaii cliché I can't remember at the moment. I heard that my high jinks were turned into a TV show where the main character was a prop, dressed in flower shirts, for the real hero of the show...A Stant-Alone-Stach.

I give you: Colt PI Stach

Stand-Alone-Stach Introduction

I sport a goatee. I've had it for about five years now. Originally I grew it out of necessity, not choice. But now the goatee has grown on me. You can see it in most of my pictures.

What was the necessity, you ask? When we moved to Houston I got a job with an Oil & Gas consulting firm. When these guys pay for our services they expect to see grizzled old consultants that have been around the block and know a few things. They did not like to see a baby faced thirty-something. I was getting blown off in meeting after meeting, so I grew some manly facial hair to fix the problem perceived incompetence. Originally it was a beard. It didn't exactly suit me. Too many chins made it hard to decide where the beard should stop. In the end I had a facial hair that merged with chest hair, and two worlds collided. Crossing these streams should only be done in emergency situations like facing down State Puff. I cut the wooly beast back to a goatee my look was born. It looked sharp and helped at work. Instantly I was treated differently in meetings, got a promotion, and was invited to swank afterword parties. All due to my chin whiskers.

Every year I attend a Mardi Gras ball that requires that I shave the goatee. I like to take advantage of this window to reset the goatee. As an added bonus I take the time to experiment with different looks I wouldn't have the guts to grow and show in public. Unusually this results in some crazy goatee variations. Amazingly the one thing I've never done was a Stand-Alone-Stach.

Only a certain kind of man can sport the Sand-Alone-Stach. You need a number of things working in your favor to pull it off. You need a cooperative wife/girl friend/gal pal, she has to approved of the worm on your lip. You need a cooperative occupation, we can't all be cops, firefighters, or lumberjacks. You need a strong personality, it's no coincidence that Hitler and Stalin are known for the hair on their lips. Maybe you don't need to murder millions of people, but you still need to pull it off.

This year I shaved the goatee down to a Stand-Alone-Stach. It was amazing. Liberating. Magical. I never realized how much a mustache would allow you to do. Worlds of opportunity open before me. Clean shaven guys, can pretty much only be the good guy. Goatee folks can only be thugs or evil twins from alternate dimensions. But mustaches can do anything. The world was laid bare before me.

To paint a picture of opportunity for you, my readers, I went through a weeklong transformation, experiencing a new persona every day. We chronicled these adventures for your amusement. I will post a new Stand-Alone-Stach picture every day (or so depending on my ability to leave my newfound persona behind) for a week.

Feel free to vote on your favorite. Ladies and Gentlemen, I give you Stand-Alone-Stach of the Day.