We did a book this summer called Eurotash. It’s about moustaches and it’s about Europe. In order to get away with it we had to grow moustaches, and being competitive little sons of bitches, figured what better way to close the book than to enter the World Beard and Moustache Championships in Grundau, Western Germany.
I’ve never met journalists who rough it quite so much as us. We average a night in a bed, at best, half of the week. That said, time’s taught us a few tricks. Nowadays we pack an eye mask and earplugs quicker than notepads and cameras. I’d like to point out, right now, that me and Steve are not gay. It’s not that we’re against that kind of shit or anything, just every other photo is of the two of us sleeping somewhere else and it’s getting harder to convince girls that we’re not just dating them to steal their shoes.
Apparently only 50 percent of women are into guys with moustaches. At the Championships there was no doubt which half of the female pop. we were dealing with. Girls were literally slipping off their seats as hairier after hairier man stepped onto the stage. These two deserted their husbands and dogs and boarded a plane in Virginia to come to Germany for a long weekend. We left them in the middle of a type of hair orgy. Having moustaches as small as ours made us sexy as syphilis.
Elaborate moustaches are about as close a man can get to having gigantic plastic boobs without actually having gigantic plastic boobs. Garret won the Kaiser category. When the judges lifted their panels to reveal a clean sweep of “10’s,” he shook, then punched the air before breaking down like a five-year-old after his first wasp sting. “My whole life I dreamed of winning a moustache competition,” Garret said. Moustache sport is the ultimate egg-and-spoon race. Unless you’re competing it’s hard to see what all the fuss is about.
In order to compete we had to belong to a Moustache Club. There aren’t any in Ireland so we invented one: Club Ronnie. Apparently Steve offered to host the Worlds in Dublin in the next couple of years. Anyone got a hall, some hairdryers, and a few grand to spare?
It was one of those days where you wouldn’t have been suprised if a Yeti sat down beside you and poured himself a glass of schnapps. The hair in this picture is probably older than you. While you were still flicking bra straps and fretting that you’re braces might get caught in hers, this wild growth was just about making it past the knees. This moustache, unfurled, is longer than most people.
This moustache, unfurled, is longer than most people too. At the competition, some contestants took upwards of three hours to get styled, and then daintily sipped their beers through straws so not to destroy their creations. Moustache WAGs ran around the place like flies on shit. It’s funny, when styled most of the guys couldn’t answer their phones anymore. Instead they’d have to do this back and forth motion over the giant curl. Also, when they were getting their awards they couldn’t kiss the hired blonde on the cheek either. Wiley old dogs, just went straight for the puckers instead.
This is Wolfgang Schneider’s moustache. He won our category with a perfect score. I’d love to write a whole six lines about what a nasty, no good, piece of shit bastard he was, but Wolfgang was actually the coolest kid at the comp. Damn.
Tags: Competition, Eurotrash, Germany, moustaches, Uncategorized, weird things must live in there
the last two guys need mustaches turn signals. that is insane.
you can’t cry and have a mustache. that’s not how it works. you have to either never smile or smile all the time but there is definitely no crying allowed.
GODDAMN! I hope the cowboy with that long ass mustache/beard combo is representing the U.S.! Somewhere the dudes from Z.Z. Top are crying.