I’ve decided that this mustache has the opposite effect of Samson and his hair. Samson was a complete and total badass, killing one thousand Philistines with the jawbone of a donkey. Dude was a chick magnet, too. And then he cut all his hair off, and was a total wiener, got his eyes gouged out, put into slavery, and eventually, after his hair grew out, killed an assload more of the Philistines (and who says I never paid attention in school?). It seems, however, that adding hair to my head—in this case, my upper lip—has had the total opposite effect. Let me set the scene:
In an effort to get some bastardized piece of equipment at work running yesterday, I twice went to Best Buy to get some missing electronic components. Both times, I had the same cute cashier—Bethany was her name. I flirted, and flirted, and then I flirted some more. I know I’m not the most Dapper Dan on the planet, but usually I can get some kind of reaction out of the fair damsels working the check-out line. For some reason beyond my understanding, I couldn’t get even the slightest interested reaction out of this one. As a matter of fact, she seemed almost…disgusted. And then it hit me: the mustache is the ultimate chick-repellent, especially this one.
This is my brain, this is my brain on sobriety: so, if Batman fought the Flash, wouldn’t that just be a grittier version of Wile E. Coyote trying to catch the Roadrunner? I mean, sure, Batman would have better luck, and I doubt they’d be fighting in the Grand Canyon or whatever, but c’mon. Batman:Coyote::Flash:Roadrunner. Acme = Wayne Enterprises. It makes sense, people!
In other news, that may be the dorkiest thing I’ve ever written. Moving on…
I’m going to see B.B. King tonight, and could not be more excited. Problem: I feel like I should be drinking a fifth of Makers Mark—straight up—when I’m listening to the blues.
In an effort to look like as much of a paedophile as possible, here’s today’s photo. Enjoy.
Happy birthday, mom.
P.S. Sorry for not being very funny today.