This is my stache.

There are many like it, but this one is MINE.

My stache is my best friend. It is my life.

I must master it as I must master my life.

My stache without me is useless. Without my stache, I am useless.

I must shave my stache true.

I must shave straighter than my enemy who is trying to out grow me.

My stache and myself know that what counts in war is not the number of blades we use, the smoothness of our skin,
nor the 5 o’clock shadow we make.

We know it is the stache that counts. We will grow...

My stache is human, even as I, because it is my life.

Thus, I will learn it as a brother.

I will learn its weaknesses, its strengths, its parts, its accessories,
its sights, and its patterns.

I will ever guard it against the ravages of weather and damage.

I will keep my stache clean and ready, even as I am clean and ready.

We will become part of each other. We will...

Before God I swear this creed.

My stache and myself are the defenders of the BASH.

We are the masters of our enemy.

We are the saviors of my life.

So be it, until there is no enemy, but THE RAZOR!