At the supermarket here in Union, New Jersey (the 75th greatest place to live in America (look it up)), I saw a man wearing a T-shirt advertising a restaurant named "Mustache Bill's Diner."
This was almost enough to make me stop eating food forever. But I came to my senses (namely, hunger).
Mustache Bill's Diner is the worst name for a restaurant I have ever heard. There is a game that I play with a few friends called Categories, during which, in the dull silences of our conversations, we announce a suggestive open-ended category which we then brainstorm until a fitting coda is reached. Mustache Bill's Diner could be the coda, or blackout line, or button, or whatever you want to call it, of the category "Unappetizing Names for a Restaurant," or "Diners Where You Would Vomit in the Middle of Your Meal."
I don't know want to think about mustaches, or mustache hair, while I am eating.
"Is everything okay with your meal, sir?"
"I think there is a hair in my potato salad."
"Oh, don't worry about that; it's probably just some mustache hair that fell off our chef Bill's mustache and into your potato salad. A little mustache hair in your food is a good source of iron. Would you like some mustache hair with your dessert as well? We can sprinkle some mustache hair in your banana pudding, or you can try our specialty, apple pie a la Bill's Mustache Hair."
"I think I'd just like to throw up from the though of having mustache hair in my mouth."
"Thank you for coming to Mustache Bill's. Please come back if you ever have a hankering for licking the salt-and-pepper mustache of a barrel-bellied Giants-loving New Jerseyite again. At Mustache Bill's Diner -- get some crusty brittle mustache on your tongue!"
It's okay, Mustache Bill's, I'm on a diet anyway, and I hear that throwing up uncontrollably is an important part of a balanced diet (the balance being between eating and vomiting for hours and hours).