
Distantly, two conemen observe a few rocks, among those talking rocks, one with a mosstache. What nonsense shall come of this today?


Orange Coneman: “I think it’d be real neat to have a moustache!”
Yellow Coneman: “It might be, and a rare few of our kin do, but for you it is impossible”

Orange Coneman: “Why ever not?”
Yellow Coneman: “You’re a woman, conegirls can't grow moustaches. How silly”
She could not retort, but in her heart she decided to associate with the yellow coneman less in the future, heartless killer of a maiden’s moustache dreams as he was.