One morning I woke up and my victory mustache was gone. Its work was done, and it rode off into the sunset, like the Lone Ranger.

My brother’s ‘stache, on the other hand, decided to hang around. It has since morphed into something a little different:

So, if you see Snidely Whiplash skulking around tying women to train tracks, it’s probably just my brother. Please return him to me. In the meantime, don’t try to transport any money by train, and beware old-timey piano music. That is all.