My wife graciously purchased the wall of jericho for my birthday, as I marched through frangrant indulgence, I came upon a mysterious blue vial of excess and ego serendipitously thrown in, as I carefully decanted this forbidden essence little did I know how much my life would change. Not only is my beard healthier, thicker, more luscious and controllable, the smell wafts gloriously and many times the wife has commented on how good I and the bathroom smells with a sutble but sweet masculinity, the shower head no longer mounts proudly from the wall but is suspiciously found recklessly abused, limp on the floor, as I enter the gym even the most monstrous of the muscle gods bow in subservience parting my way to the squat rack as my scent parts the stale sweat of the room, when entering my girlfriends abode she launches herself like an alien face hugger demanding moustache rodeo. All other mortal oils, balms, waxes, shampoo brands have hense been dispatched to the depths of landfill they once came, only a sea of blue Jericho sins remains, and grows with oil and balm, butter and shampoo, awaiting the prophesied moustache wax...