Moustache: The Pabst Homeworld needs me!
It’s covered in flannel.
This counts as a pun, right?
A long time ago, on a magical night, I met drunken Santa Claus. He filled our night with Christmas jeer and left in a puff of urine-scented vapour.
They say, if you listen real closely, on a dank winter’s night, you can hear him vomiting on himself.
What’s the point of the three extra drinks? He still only has one mouth!