Friday, April 23, 2010

I'd Rather Bleach My Eyes

It's about time we addressed the unloved children of the world, the Gingers.
Let's just take it from the top:

Axl Rose. The man used to be dope as fuck, and no one really dwelled on his red-headedness (Well, he kept it hidden under those rad bandanas - don't ask don't tell). Now he walks around wearing rosaries like necklaces (SINNER!!!) and painting his face with layers of cheetos, daily.

I have it on good faith that Slash couldn't work with redheads and Axl believed his red hair to be 'charming' hence the end of the GNR era. Worked out well for one of them, and that one has noicce hair, and hats and sunglasses that just can't be compared to.

Seth Green is a funny dude. The bloody caterpillar under his nose is not funny.

hokay. The thing about genetic disease is, it needs to be
removed from the breeding population. These patients of firecrotch syndrome (FICS for short) are constantly offered solutions to make life easier for others who have to look at their fug faces them like hair dye, tanning, razors, wigs, and MJ skin-treatments. But they refuse. Had I any interes
t in the livelihoods of these people, I would start a charity that collected boxes of hair dye to help them cope with such a debilitating disorder, but I don't want to risk encouraging their procreation. Mrs. Weasley already gave us enough fireants to deal with for the rest of our lives, thanks.

hohohooo you've been waiting
for this haven't you?
Here it is, in all of its steroid (not from macaroni, mind you) glory. Here is the story of how this disgusting thing came to be:
Madonna's used tampon came to life one day. It just grew and pulsated and FORTUNATELY did not make baby tampons. So not cool, right? Vile beings are born unto good people (aka me and you, my faithful readers) in vile ways and collect-call commercials.

I have $6. That should be enough for bleach, right?


PS- Just for shits and giggles, I present you with the not-so-rare sweaty cheeto-stache:

You're welcome.

Sunday, April 11, 2010

Can't Handle The Handlebar!

Why does Nicole Kidman exist?
In all likelyhood, specifically to prevent me from enjoying the world's finest stache. Whada bitch!

Okay, so here's the story: I hate Nicole Kidman with a burning passion and will never watch anything with her in it. I hate her just as much as I hate Nicholas Cage, and we do nawt want to open up that can of worms. [EDIT: We are going to open that nasty-ass can of worms because he's totally in Ghostrider with Nicholas Cage! What an asshole! (Nicholas Cage I mean.) stupid nagger.]

So I spent months changing the channel to avoid looking at her emaciated-troll face whenever The Golden Compass trailer came on. Unfortunately for myself, I never came to realize that Sam Elliott's shining stache was the main feature, which, I'll have you know, swept the award shows for "Best Supporting Stache".

What handlebar beauty and perfection! This man has every desirable hair gene known to man. His eyebrows are *amazing*. And he has a full head of hair - What a feat! And the moustache: It has consistent color, symmetrical shape, incredible volume, upper-liplessness, and a salty-scruff. I can't do it justice. I'm in fucking awe right now.

I almost couldn't top that, but then I remembered this little morsel. He has a wife (duh) and she's sexy as hell.

Mr. Sam Elliott is married to Katharine Ross. I know her as my girlfriend, but many of you know her as Elaine Robinson from The Graduate or as Etta Place from Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid.

Actually, nothing makes me happier that they are together. Because a stache like that needs beauty like hers to match it, and she certainly deserves nothing less than a stache like that. Its fate.

And here they are together because they're so fucking cute.

Those two are actually what the 60s were all about. What was that? You say that the Beatles were? I'm not familiar. They sound like a bunch of A-holes anyway.

Here's one last look, upclose, at the mother of all staches:

You're Welcome.


Thursday, April 1, 2010

High School: We ain't talking about crustaches

High school is the worst time of your life, second only to middle school. And if its not the second worst time of your life, then your current life sucks. My high school experience consisted of not trying hard (like I hate to do), getting straight A's (like I love to do), waiting for 500 idiots to grow up (patience is not one of my better qualities) and zero mustaches. And a lack of facial hair in general. And a lack of nice hair (well, except for me). So in summary, it sucked. No surprise there.

Then picture it. A sophomore in college, with all the facial hair you could ever want (and don't want) to see, ereday. Probably haven't thought about high school since I graduated and then I get thrown this doozie: two teachers from high school decide to have a moustache competition! I could die. Thats actually the only thing that can make my high school experience any worse - they held out on me for three (3) years! So rude!!!!

But I have to forgive them. Because in reality, those two mustaches are the most perfect things to come out of my high school since I peaced out of there two years ago.

Can you just imagine how much better high school would have been with those mustaches? You mean we have to go outside and play ultimate frisbee and its only 45 degrees out and it just rained? No problem. You want a report on the French Revolution? Its already done.

Students have tons of requirements. The PSSAs are "required". Attendance is "required". So facial hair should be required [note the lack of quotes] with only the facially-haired disabled excused. Imagine the facial hair face-offs that could ensue! It could be as awesome as this.

Finally, a shout-out to my homeboy, my 11th grade SS teacher. You and your moustache are dope. I highly recommend keeping it.

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