Seth MacFarlane - A Million Ways to Die in the West

“Amen,” echoed the congregation.

For the fifth time during that morning’s service, Albert glanced over his shoulder as inconspicuously as he could. Louise sat on the other side of the aisle, a few rows back. Foy sat beside her. He was a classically handsome dandy, with well-oiled hair and a big cocky asshole moustache stretching out so widely on either side that it was almost like his face had two hairy arms extended in a ta-da gesture. Ta-da! A colossal prick!

As if hearing the thought, Foy glanced in Albert’s direction. Albert quickly averted his gaze to the pulpit.

The pastor continued. “We would like to offer a heartfelt prayer for the family of James Addison, who was killed this morning while unloading the ice shipment. James, we’ll think of you lovingly this July as we sip the cold summer beverages for which you gave your life.”

Albert leaned over to Edward, whispering in disbelief, “They’re still gonna use the fuckin’ ice.”

“Before we end the service this morning,” Pastor Wilson went on, “we’d like to welcome two new members of our community: Lewis Barnes and his sister, Anna. They’ve just moved here to Old Stump, and they plan to build a farm, so we wish them the best of luck. That concludes today’s service. God bless you for another week, and there is a mountain lion warning in effect.”

As the congregation began to disperse, Albert curiously observed the new arrivals. They were an odd pair, these two siblings. The man, Lewis, looked as if God had lost a bet. His face was rough and pockmarked, his skin appearing less like flesh and more like the surface of a badly maintained dirt road peppered with horseshit. He was not a small man by any means, but his weaselly, rodent-like face looked as if it belonged on a skinnier, more frail body. Albert hoped for the fellow’s sake that he was either really smart or had a winning sense of humor. From the looks of him, neither was the case.

The woman was intriguing. How she could possibly be related to this guy was a mystery. She was certainly beautiful by any standard, and her face radiated a relaxed, tranquil quality that seemed too august for the hard world of the frontier. Yet as high above her dusty surroundings as she carried herself, she somehow did not seem uncomfortable with the disunion. Regardless, she would surely be over this crap town and on her way in a very short time.

The moustachery was perhaps the most well-appointed establishment in Old Stump. There were various photographs of distinguished-looking gentlemen lining the walls, each one sporting a more extravagant, flamboyant moustache than the last. There were big bushy moustaches that blocked out the lower half of the face save for the tip of the chin, thickly waxed and oiled moustaches ending in sharp spirals at either end, and moustaches that gracefully melted into fat muttonchop sideburns. This Tuesday afternoon, there were a few patrons scattered about the place. One sat comfortably in the grooming chair, getting a moustache trim; another examined an array of waxes, oils, and creams; a third was engaged in conversation with Foy himself.

“I would say you could try oiling it into a fine curl,” Foy suggested, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together for emphasis. “Your moustache definitely has the body for it.”

“Yeah, I’ve thought about that, but I sorta like it a little messy, y’know? Sorta fun?” the customer answered with a conflicted tone.

“Well, if that’s what you’re going for, I’d use the cream, and I would definitely let it grow.”

“See, I kinda wanna do that.”

“And, you know what, I see the hesitation on your face, but, trust me, you could do that.”

“Like shoulder length?”

“Do it. You’ll thank me.”

“See, I’ve always wanted to do shoulder length, but I’m worried I don’t have the chin for it.”

“You have the chin for it,” Foy assured him.

“Okay, wow, you just gave me, like, a whole bunch of confidence.”

“Try the cream for a few weeks, and let me know how it goes.”

“I will, thank you. I’m excited now! I want it to grow really fast!” The man hurried out the door.

As it swung back, Louise gracefully sauntered in, all bouncing blond curls and coquettish smiles for her wealthy new boyfriend. “Hi!” She beamed, throwing her arms around him.

“Hey, you.” Foy grinned. He grabbed her by the waist and kissed her long and hard. She reciprocated momentarily, then pulled away as she swung her hips back and forth, flashing her most seductively girlish smile.

“So, the fair’s coming up soon, and I thought maybe we could go dress shopping later,” she said, batting her long lashes.

Foy took the cue. “You know, I was thinking you could use a new dress.”

“Something… expensive?” she said, sliding a slender white finger down the center of his chest.

“Stupidly expensive,” he said, his tone theatrically devilish.

She laughed gaily and reached a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him in for another kiss.

Albert was just in time to get an eyeful as he walked through the door. Yes, he’d had time to process the breakup. Sure, he’d tried to move forward by seeing other people. Yes, he’d known Louise and Foy were together. But the actual sight of her kissing him was a knife in his side. And suddenly all the agony came surging back in a nauseating wave, and he hurt all over again just as much as the day he’d lost her. But he’d be damned if he’d let it show.

Foy saw him first, and quietly pulled his lips away from his new girlfriend’s.

Louise turned to look and immediately lowered her gaze with an embarrassed sigh. “Oh, Jesus,” she muttered under her breath.

“Hi, Albert,” Foy greeted him confidently.

“Hello,” Albert answered, warily stepping inside. He pretended to be disinterested as he surveyed the various moustache-related products lining the shelves.

“What’s up, kiddo?” said Foy. “Never seen you in here before.”

“Just, um… browsing.” Albert hoped his faux nonchalance was at least somewhat convincing.

“Yeah… you don’t have a moustache, though.”

“Well, I was… I was thinkin’ about growin’ one.”

Louise whispered to Foy, loud enough for Albert to hear, “I’m gonna use the powder room.” She whirled with spinning skirts and retreated through a door in the back.

Albert felt another stab of distress. He’d shared so much love with this girl, so many good times, so many memories… and now she couldn’t even bear to be in the same room with him. Again, he managed to conceal his piercing heartache and kept his attention on Foy.

“What kinda moustache you looking to grow?” Foy asked, taking a couple of steps toward Albert.

“Um… a big one.” Albert suddenly had no clue at all why he’d even set foot in this place or what he’d hoped to accomplish. “The kind that… goes down below my mouth, and then along the edge of my jaw… and then, um… goes up and becomes my sideburns, and then becomes my hair.”

“A Möbius moustache,” said Foy without missing a beat.

“A Möbius moustache, yeah,” Albert responded, acting as if it had been on the tip of his tongue the whole time.

As if sensing Albert was in over his head, Foy doubled the condescension in his tone. “You know, that sort of moustache is a costly facial accessory.”

“Yeah,” said Albert with false assuredness.

“Well… you’re a sheep farmer.” Foy grinned a grin that made Albert wish cholera upon him.

Fuck it . “You feel good about what you’re doing?” Albert said, taking a step closer to the moustachier.

Foy appeared unbothered. “What am I doing?”

“Stealing a guy’s girlfriend?” Albert could feel his face getting red with both fury and embarrassment. “You able to sleep at night?”