Mustache Machine

When Japanese school girl fetishism surpassed that of the Catholic school girl (“and her tiny little mustache,” as Frank Zappa sang in his lurid paean to the plaid-clad adolescents), it brought with it a new chapter in vending machine lore.

Since the 90s, it’s been alleged that one might acquire schoolgirl underwear from vending machines in Japan (I’ve not bothered to ask expat pal Trane Devore if this is true — nor do I care to know). What’s germane is that America, as with most notions high tech, no matter how low brow, continues to trail Japan.

Until now…

Finally some crackpot channeled their leather daddy mustache fetish into a machine at Lepe’s Mexican restaurant on Summerfiled Rd. in Santa Rosa, CA. For 50 cents, you can crank the knob and get your very own handlebar mustache not seen in general circulation since the Village People. If you have a mustache fetish, this is your machine. Note the vamp of the VP’s construction worker, biker and cowboy on the point of sale art in the picture. Also, note the warning: “Choking hazard.” Yeah, take that, Japan.

By Daedalus Howell

I explore the creative life as a storyteller, artist, and entrepreneur. I’m the writer-director of Pill Head and the forthcoming feature film Wolf Story. I’m also the author, most recently, of the novel Quantum Deadline, and am active in media (Bohemian, Pacific Sun). Click to subscribe to my Substack!

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