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to complement your stunning square jaw and your proud warrior nose and your perfectly symmetrical face structure. Now, wake up and draw it on the official Dinobots stationery next to your bed so you know exactly how to sculpt me, Slick Daddy, when you get old enough for that kind of thing.”

But if I did choose to say something like that, that’d probably be pretty close to the spirit of what Slick Daddy would’ve told me, and I probably would’ve drawn a masterpiece of mustachioed art on my official Dinobots stationery.

And I’m actually using that original drawing—or, you know, would be if it really existed—to get Slick Daddy and his appearance trademarked, copyrighted, and patented all at the same time. So if you want to copy my mustache, you legally aren’t allowed to, unless you pay me a licensing fee of $129.95 at InterdimensionalChampionsClub.gg.

But, you know, there are plenty of other styles out there that are just okay, and I just know that at least one of them wants to choose your face.

So here’s what you’re gonna do.

You’re gonna stand in front of a mirror, and you’re gonna stare hard at that mug of yours, okay? Right at that naked spot above your upper lip. And you’re gonna listen. Just listen.

Now, this might take a while, all right? You might be standing there two, three days. You might not be able to eat food or drink water, and you might have to wear an adult diaper.

But that’s fine. That’s ideal, in fact. Because sooner or later you’re gonna hear a voice—just like I might have—and that voice is gonna whisper something to you.

Something like “handlebar” or “walrus” or “pencil” or “horseshoe.”

That voice is your mustache choosing you. Or it’s a fasting hallucination. But probably it’s your mustache choosing you.

And you’re gonna do whatever your mustache tells you to do, no matter how insane—with three important exceptions:

a) The Hitler Mustache: Most unpopular guy in recorded history, and honestly, if your mustache is whispering the name of any genocidal dictator, you should probably do an Amish beard instead.

b) The Charlie Chaplin Mustache: Great guy, but too weirdly close to the Hitler ’stache, so best to avoid.

c) The Slick Daddy Mustache™®© (patent pending): Unless you pay the $129.95 licensing fee at InterdimensionalChampionsClub.gg.

2. Razor

Look, the Two-Time doesn’t use just any razor.

The brilliant mustache scientists at Schick developed for me and me only a special Mach 23 Prototype Razor XL-3000 with twenty-three—yeah, twenty-three—blades on it for the closest possible shave in the history of humanity on Earth or in space.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, because you’re not as clever as you assume. You’re thinking, “Doc, Schick doesn’t even make the Mach line of razors, that’s Gillette.”

But that’s checkers to my chess.

See, I was about to give Gillette the honor of crafting a one-of-a-kind custom razor for Slick Daddy, but they couldn’t figure out how to put more than nineteen blades on a single razor, and that’s fucking unacceptable.

So I went to my boys at Schick and, yeah, even they were kind of confused by why I needed so many blades on a single razor, but I pointed at Slick Daddy and was like, “Fellas, you think a mustache this cunning, this deadly, doesn’t know exactly what he wants? Are you really trying to tell me the Ethiopian Poisonous Caterpillar deserves fewer than twenty-three blades? Are you?”

They totally saw the flawless logic in my argument, and they also saw me cracking the knuckles of my huge, powerful, rocklike fists, so they were like, “You got it, Doc!”

Now the only razor that touches this sensitive yet stunningly square jaw is my Mach 23 Prototype Razor XL-3000 and its twenty-three blades of pure titanium, coated with diamond carbonite for maximum precision and sharpness to get within one-millionth of one-thousandth of one-hundredth of one nanometer of my skin.

Or in other words, the precise width of a single atom at the very bottom of my ball sack. Which actually is a pretty big fucking atom.

And just in case I get bored while I’m shaving—and because I’m really good at multitasking—each prototype razor is fitted with prototype Bose Micro speakers so I can listen to Bell Biv DeVoe’s “Poison,” plus a prototype mini 4K VR Sony plasma-screen so I can watch reruns of Knight Rider, plus an experimental prototype mini Nokia flip phone so I can take a call to close a monster deal, all while keeping my face baby-butt smooth.

Because these priceless prototype razors are engineered with exceptional custom bespoke Schick technology, each one is totally good enough for a single shave. After I’m done I throw it away and open up a new one.

A little pricey, yeah, but when you’re the greatest gaming superstar of all time, a luxury like that isn’t just a luxury—it’s a necessity that’s also really luxurious.

Oh, and for a normal guy like you? You can just buy a bag of a thousand Bics for like two bucks or whatever. Honestly, that shit’s all the same anyway, right?

3. Nickname

Let’s be real here for a sec, all right? Can you handle the realness?

The realness is this: Giving your mustache a cool nickname is just as important as making it look good. Maybe even more so.

Think about it. Looking great doesn’t mean much if people aren’t talking about your looking great. And who’s gonna talk about your mustache if it has a shitty nickname or none at all?

Now, if you got a mustache named Slick Daddy—which, again, you never will because it’s trademarked, copyrighted, and patent pending—then everyone’s gonna want a piece of that thing.

Just say the words “Slick” and “Daddy” and you immediately think of a world-champion mustache that’s perfectly groomed, thick, dominant, black, and attached to a man of towering height, sweet wraparound shades, and the latest technology in flip phones.

Seriously, just say it a few times out loud. No, honestly, like right now.

You feel that vibration? It makes you want to dance with the wolf and fly with the eagle.

It makes you ask, “What makes this