Lafranceapoil [better] Review

Lafranceapoil decided to take matters into its own… follicles. It zipped onto the stage, landed on the Mayor’s bare upper lip, and attached itself with a decisive schloop .

You see, Lafranceapoil had a flaw: it was terribly vain. It believed that all hair—eyebrows, beards, even the tragic little tufts inside a nostril—should bow before its magnificence. lafranceapoil

"Still the best. Obviously."

"Competition?" it hissed, curling one tip into a question mark. "There is no competition. There is only me." Lafranceapoil decided to take matters into its own…

And so, the Mayor kept the moustache. The village gained a new tradition: every year, they held the competition, but everyone agreed that the best facial hair wasn't the biggest or the curliest—it was the one that made you smile. It believed that all hair—eyebrows, beards, even the

Lafranceapoil was, naturally, outraged.