It makes men brave

A monster come to ravage the land, and crosses a woman her man in hand. She screams and hears 'Behind me, my dove!' To which she runs derriere her love. 'My hero,' she whispers beside his head. 'It was not me, I think we're dead.' He said not those words in time of trial? Who then uttered them, not in denial? 'T'was I my darling,' came a voice so grave. 'T'will be I your hero so brave.' And like that the couple won that clash, not for man, but his mustache.

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