Mr. Muffin's Mustache Redux
by Mat Twassel
Copyright© 2026 by Mat Twassel
Flash Story: An alternative version to Mr. Muffin's Mustache - Muffin asks his girlfriend Julia for advice about his mustache. Illustrated.
Caution: This Flash Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fiction Illustrated AI Generated .
Preface: Yesterday I asked CoPilot to create a story about a man named Mr. Muffin, who, unhappy with his mustache, asked his girlfriend Julia for advice. I provided a few seed sentences, and I requested that CoPilot exaggerate some of the writing traits AI authors are known to use, namely em dashes, three part structures, and similes. Today I asked CoPilot to redo the story but in a serious style, eschewing alliteration, similes, em dashes, and three part structures.
Mr. Muffin’s Mustache Redux
By CoPilot
Mr. Muffin stood in the bathroom early in the morning, studying his reflection. He had trimmed his mustache again, trying to bring it under control, but the hairs still pushed outward in uneven directions. He set the razor down and wiped his face with a towel, feeling the familiar frustration settle in.
Julia was in the kitchen making coffee. He joined her and hesitated before speaking. She noticed the hesitation and waited.
“I can’t get this thing right,” he said. “I’ve tried everything. It never looks the way I want it to.”
She looked at him for a moment, taking in the seriousness of his expression. She reached out and touched his cheek, then stepped back to see him more clearly.
“You’re asking what I think,” she said.
He nodded.
“All right,” she said. “I think you’re fighting it. You want it to behave like something it isn’t. You’d be happier if you stopped trying to force it into a shape you don’t even like. Either let it grow the way it wants to, or shave it off. But stop treating it like a problem you have to solve.”
Her tone was calm, but the words landed with more force than he expected. He looked down at the counter, unsure how to respond.
She waited again, giving him space.
“I didn’t think you’d say that,” he said.
“I know,” she replied. “But you asked.”
He stood there quietly, absorbing the truth of it. The mustache wasn’t the issue. His insistence on controlling it was. He felt a small shift inside, not dramatic, but real.
Julia poured him a cup of coffee and handed it to him. He accepted it, still thinking. The morning light came through the window, steady and unremarkable, and he realized he felt lighter than he had a few minutes before.
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