That's because I was born with a mustache. Yep. Along with a full head of curly hair, a full set of adult teeth and, on my left wrist, a Casio C-80 calculator watch. The doctor said he'd never seen anything like it before. My dad said, "Man, I've always wanted one of those!" (The watch, not me, a son.)
Thanks to my Casio, I was a math whiz in school. Well, at least through elementary school, which was mostly simple arithmetic; middle school math presented algebraic word problems, the answers to which weren't easily provided by any of the C-80's nineteen buttons.
In fourth grade, the Casio C-80 gave me the answer to every one of my math questions. But it never could tell me why Rachel Buckley had her best friend dump me at recess, while I cooled off my hot shooting hand in the drinking fountain. |
The watch's helpfulness in math class ran out; however, the mustache, even through middle school, proved useful. For instance, I always had a tasty treat during the after-lunch period, leftover above my lip, accessed by a simple swipe of the tip of my tongue.
It was usually a snack acquired privately unto myself, as my assigned seat was in the back row (where I usually drew No. 2-leaded portraits of Jean-Claude Van Damme privately unto myself). But one time, for whatever reason—maybe because the zebra-printed Zubaz I was wearing failed to properly mute my trumpet-sounding flatulence—Suzy Derkins looked back at me while I accessed some stubborn PB&J. She gasped "Gross!" and then immediately puked, downward through her fingers, into her cheerleading skirt—the coughed-up contents waterily resembled that day's taco salad. (What's so gross about PB&J, by the way? Never figured that one out.) To her credit, Suzy still cheered well at the homecoming pep rally later that afternoon, even though she was demoted to the back row, in an effort to hide her taco salad-ed skirt. I doubt she had any time to sketch Van Damme back there.
| To this day, I continue to adorn my upper lip with a mustache, still also using it to savor post-meal flavors. And many of those meals, just like in middle school, consist of three ingredients: enriched white Wonder bread, Jif chunky peanut butter (reduced fat, of course), and Smucker's concord grape jelly. You better believe I leave the crust attached. How else am I supposed to maintain the astronomical level of testosterone in my body, without steroid injections or larger, more industrious testes? |  Get reduced sugar to reduce fat-assness. And induce fine-assness. |
A diet high in bread crust has given me three things; the desire to flex in my bathroom mirror being one, and better pick-up lines being the other. The third, you ask? Isn't it obvious by now? A mustache that's silkier than the finest scarves from China, and thicker than any novel written by Leo Tolstoy. And, yes, that includes War and Peace. Or maybe it isn't so obvious, considering that I haven't provided a picture yet. Well—drumroll, please—here you go.
| I know what you're thinking, ladies, and the answer is a nickel. I know, an unbelievable bargain for an unbelievable ride. Just like a roller coaster, riding my mustache will make you feel like you're flying. Or upset to your stomach, thinking "I shouldn't have had so much to drink beforehand." |
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True, Jean-Claude Van Damme, my sensei—the man whom I've molded myself after by mimicking his movie's training montages, even the coconut-dropped-on-abs-just-above-the-gonads part from that modern movie classic known as Kickboxer—has never worn a mustache. I guess, sadly, it's the one way in which we differ. I mean, 'cause without a doubt, the rest of us is almost identical, right down to our butt cheeks, which appear to be sets of gluteal twins. Interested in a picture of that too? (Editor's Note: Images forthcoming, as soon as I can afford a camera with enough pixels to properly display our/my butt cheeks.)
However, as seen in the aforementioned Kickboxer (as I said, a classic), Van Damme's on-screen brother, Eric Sloane, does sport a 'stache—a meticulously groomed, wonderfully thin, yet still robust one. Did I just refer to his above-lip adornment as a "'stache"? Forgive me, that's an inappropriate abbreviation, because you must take a long, un-abbreviated look at it. Begin staring below.
At the beginning of the movie, Eric has the finest mustache of anyone ever standing alongside Van Damme in a movie. And still in the beginning of the movie, after an elbow to the spine from Muy Thai mercenary Tong Po puts him in a wheelchair, he has the finest mustache of anyone ever sitting next to Van Damme in a movie. Hey, despite being lowered from six feet to three feet from the ground, the thing clearly still heightens his sexual appeal.
Unfortunately, Eric Sloane and his mustache aren't getting much attention on the Internets. Look up his name on Google and you'll find this guy—a very un-mastached "Senior Program Officer" who wouldn't last a second in the ring against the real Eric Sloane from Kickboxer. And I'm talking about the wheelchaired Eric.
| According to a Google image search, "Eric Sloane" is on the left, in the bottom row. Nice try, Google, but I don't see a mustache or a wheelchair. Although, "Eric" does look handicapped. |
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In honor of Eric Sloane's mustache, and to give it the credit it deserves in Google searches, I'm now officially announcing Mustache Mondays at the Van Damme DOJO blog. Each Monday, I'll publish a post that's mustached themed. And every post will begin with an image of the real Eric Sloane and a short blurb explaining my mission about increasing his mustache's Google ranking. We'll see how high his lip wreath will rise. Of course, while remaining between three and six feet off the ground, depending on which part of the beginning of Kickboxer you're referring to.
Will the Eric Sloane must-see-stache see the light of day on the first page of a Google search? I'll show it first page if it's the last thing I do. Just like Blade showed a virus-infected, near-death Nyssa her first sunrise—and it was, in fact, that last thing she did, because she was a vampire, and, as you probably know, sunlight is deadly to them.
One thing's for certain, though: my upper lip will never see the light of day. But it will continue to see some Jif chunky peanut butter and Smucker's concord grape jelly, both on enriched white Wonder bread. With the crust, my friend.
 | Sign up! And receive an e-mail every other Friday about the latest MOJO from the Van Damme DOJO. I can't promise you'll LOL. But I guarantee your cheeks will hurt. |
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