SAMANTHA’S TOP 5 WHITE NOISE BANGERS TO GET LAID TO

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Woah what’s going on? Who’s this other blonde girl below me? That’s not Leah. At least I don’t think it is. Change scares me.

Haha just kidding! This week Leah is out of commission so you’re just going to have to deal with my shitty humour. Sorry. Why you ask? WHY you plead? Well get a hold of yourself; this weekend Leah accidentally took a tumble down a flight of stairs and broke her humerus (bone in the upper arm, nerds). Along with it, she broke any hope that I would get home from Golden Words duties before 11pm. You can’t make it up though: a Golden Words editor breaking their HUMERUS? Classic slapstick. Get better though Leah I can’t do this shit alone. I’m alone and cold.

I digress – the people need a real editorial and I’m the one to give it to them. I would say no one else can, but I literally just got through doing the layout for two other people who decided to do editorials (thanks Sam and Sam). What should I write about? Oh I know! As you can see from this week’s disturbing photo of me, I decided to have a moustache for a while. I’ll write about that.

For the last 6 weeks I grew a beard. More out of laziness to shave than for the style of it. I was greeted with many a compliment, and said “hey, why not ride this out a little longer”. And thus I did. However. I was eventually bored of it and decided it would be funner to rock the moustache. And so that’s how we got here.

You know how everyone always says “When you have a moustache the world is way cooler”? Well firstly they don’t say that, I don’t know where you got that, and secondly, you’re goddamn right it’s true. I was greeted by many experiences this week that reaffirmed my belief that if you can grow it, you better show it (not a penis thing I swear).

What you need to know is there’s this sort of unspoken kinship between mustachioed men and women (don’t worry swarthy ladies, I gotchu). This past Saturday night I was out for dinner and the waiter too had a moustache. “Nice moustache”, he said to me. “Nice moustache”, I said back at him. God, you could just feel the sexual tension in the air, the spark that can only occur between a handlebar and a Burt Reynolds. Throughout the meal I felt as though he was looking out for me. We got the food fast, he patted me on the back, complimenting my posture and choice of clothing, and at the end of the meal, he wrote his phone number on my bill! “Call me soon”, he wrote. How nice of him to want to be friends with another moustached person!

Another instance of moustache privilege. Earlier this week I was super tired and late for class. I was all over the place. A “gongshow” as my mother would say if she was still alive. In any case, I burst into my lecture hall, only to be immediately greeted by security. “Sir, you cannot be here – we know what that moustache means. You legally need to get out of the mile perimeter of this building”. I look up at the KCVI sign. How foolish of me! I was accidentally in the high school! How sweet of these security guards to note my moustache, how manly it was, and that therefore I should not be even close to the school! I went on my way, thanking them as they kept telling me to get out or else they would need to arrest me.

Anyway it’s super late and I don’t need to make this any longer so I wwon’t. You should all grow moustaches if you want to be as cool as me and get these sorts of experiences! So much fun! I miss you mom.

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