Re-Branding Moustachio

Welcome to the *former* moustachio blog. lol. I say *former* because there are going to be some *major* changes coming. No more dicking around. No more inactivity. No more mismanaging funds.

The key phrase is *re-branding*. lol. Not trying to get all marketing guru on you! lol. It's just time for *moustachio* to do something important in this world. It's time for moustachio to change how consumers use the internet.

"*How do we do that?,*" you're probably asking yourself. lol. Good question! Feedback is encouraged. The web is about Two-Way-Communication. Me talking to you. You letting me know how you feel about that. Web 2.0...dig it! LOL.

Well, making these changes is going to be a focused, difficult task. Moustachio is going to diversify. Moustachio is going to elevate *and* enhance. Moustachio...might as well call it Transformio! lol. From here on out, this blog will focus on 3 things:

• Dinosaur Sex
• Relationship Advice
• Old Person Tweets

How cool would it be if a velociraptor had sex with a brontosaurus? Do you think the Raptor would touch the brontosaurus' tail during foreplay? Do you Raptor fellatio would hurt, even though brontosaurus skin is very tough?

Q: Hi, my name is Franklin and I've never had a girlfriend. How do I get a muff with the right stuff? A: Lose 10 pounds and put glitter on your penis.

Ethel35: @TheEllenShow keep up the good work, young man.

I Love The Big Screen!

Harry Potter is the exact same thing as Star Wars. You realize that, I hope. Harry Potter is Star Wars with no lightsabers and bigger tits. I watched Harry Potter 3 on a bus. It was my first HP experience. That was the one where Harry was at school and some dragon chased him and then a guy tried to kill him. At some point a tent was on fire. Other than that, I don't really recall anything eventful happening.

I also saw that Twilight movie. That's the movie where a boring chick with no tits has dinner with a vampire family. After dinner they played baseball with some black guys.

I don't know who I hate more- people who do crosswords or people who make crosswords.

It's been a crazy summer ya'll! I sat front row at Letterman in NYC, I got hammered at the infield of The Kentucky Derby while wearing a shirt that said 'Talk Derby To Me', I sold frozen sushi in bulk to a number of universities, I finally saw DC and BMore, and played camp counselor for 3 weeks. Don't look now, bloggers, but I'm living life.

BRB.

In the 3rd grade a red laser went into my eyeball. It tickled my brain, and I laughed and laughed at the experience. My old, grumpy-wumpy doctor said that lasers were dangerous to us humans. But this dinosaur doctor was an old-timey, and didn't know about new age technology.

That's the problem with anyone over the age of 37. They believe butter should be churned and bras should be made of twine and iron. Old people do have worth, however. They read all the books that would otherwise sit untouched at Barnes and Noble locations across the country. Large stacks of books would stuff all sections, and us young people wouldn't have the room to enjoy the magazine section.

I visited an old folks home on Valentine's Day, to pass out valentine's and spread my cheer. There was an old man there, named Stan, who owned a pet bird named Timington. Timington was an old-timey bird, with grey feathers and a beak that could only eat mushed up crackers. He had been around since the war, and his vernacular proved it. "Throw a grenade at those Japs!," Timington screeched when we entered the room. "Nazi's! Nazi's!," when we handed Stan his valentine candy.

I invented a new candy, you know. It's for obese computer scientists. Think Fat Seinfeld mailman from Jurassic Park. The candy looks like computer wires, but tastes like a combination of skittles and gummy drops. Obese computer scientists won't have to worry about sneaking candy around..."No no, Mr. Boss-man, I'm just organizing these computer wires, sir."

I'll pass out all candy profits to sad hobos. To unfriendly religious types. I'll divide all profits to street violinists. To injured trapeze artists. To retired cowgirls. All profits to uneducated foreigners. To cold toddlers. To discouraged weightlifters. To bold scientists.

THE RETURN

When I arrive, I bring the fire! Just like Lil Wayne! LOLZ! Hey bitches, I'm still here. Fuck my inactivity. If you aren't checking up on me everyday then you're priorities are like ballsacks. Weird and stupid.

So this alligator is at the bottom of the lake. He's typing on his computer, which just happens to be an HP PC with internet capabilities. There's a problem, however. His alligator tears blend in with the swamp water. Waaaa, Mr. Green! You see, this alligator needs to print off a very important report. But since this alligators computer/printer is underwater, the paper gets very soggy.

OH MICHAEL, MAYBE YOU SHOULDN'T HAVE STARTED TO BLOG AGAIN. LOL. I MEAN, IS THAT THE BEST YOU CAN DO? HAHA.

I hate tall chicks, and short chicks. I only like medium chicks. If you are not 5ft7 then you're vagina is filled with gun powder.

YOU'RE GETTING BETTER, BUT THIS IS KIND OF ALL OVER THE PLACE. CAN'T YOU WRITE SOMETHING LONGER, LIKE A FUNNY STORY?

Sure. One time a tall chick and a short chick were at a restaurant. They both had gun powder in their vaginas. The waiter, who was a Frenchman named Henry Ford (AUTHORS NOTE: THIS FRENCHMAN WAS NOT RELATED TO HENRY FORD, AMERICAN MACHINE HERO). Henry Ford took a sniff at the table, and smelt the powder scents. He then said, "I am sorry, ladies, but I can not serve you this evening. Why don't you go to Canada." The ladies were offended, and started to cry (AUTHORS NOTE: THESE TEARS WERE DIFFERENT FROM THE ALLIGATORS TEARS, WHICH WERE PREVIOUSLY MENTIONED). So their tears strolled down their faces, and down their bodies. Earlier in the day, it should be mentioned, these ladies had been drinking rum and pine sol. AND SO THE COMBINATION OF THE GUN POWDER, THE RUMTEARS, AND THE CANDLES AT THE TABLE CREATED AN EXPLOSION! The Frenchman, who's moustache had a little bit of fire on it, was the first out of the burning building. "Oh my!" he shouted, "What a horrible evening for my restaurant!"

I MEAN, I GUESS THAT'S GOOD. BUT REALLY WEIRD. YOU SHOULD SEE SOMEONE. LIKE A THERAPIST. HEHE!

I did see a therapist, thank you, in 2006. My therapist, a woman with high morals and higher hair, told me to stop blogging. "Every time you blog," she'd say, "you're giving your ideas away for free. You don't want to be an idea whore, do you?"

Speaking of whores, where you at? My blog is a lady magnet. Every time I blog, ladies can't resist. As soon as I post this, ladies across the internet will take notice. "His writing is so different," they think. "I'll bet he's the type of guy that could make my boring life a little more colorful. I don't know, he's got the right amount of crazy."

THE RIGHT AMOUNT OF CRAZY. I LIKE THAT.

Well fuck you then.

Dear God,

Today Ron said you were invisible. I hate Ron, God. He is the worst co-worker imaginable. Could you prove you weren't invisible and fire him, God?

Thank you in advance for firing Ron,

Michael

A Pair of Powerful Men

"Can't wait for that big boat ride home," the soldier spoke into the microphone. The media mogul, with a belly full of hot rice, nodded in agreement. He knew that he would never know. They both wore green, but then again so did the tank and the tree.

The expert eyes of the furniture mogul scanned the warehouse. The Ottoman Men moved little and breathed less. "I can sell these," he finally said aloud. The Ottoman Men expressed their enormous excitement with normal blink tempos and bowed heads.

Michael Conti: Up Close + Personal

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