An MGD 64-soaked 'stache catches eye of school teacher, and every other letter on her vest.

On Wednesday night, I shot a video of myself. On Thursday night, I edited that footage of myself while serving bottles to myself of MGD 64—the beer-flavored water that's "as light as it gets," for those trying to make their piss as clear as it gets. On Friday night, instead of serving myself 64 while repeatedly watching footage of myself, I decided to visit an establishment where someone else other than myself would serve me the lightest-of-all beer, while I watched others other than myself. Still with me? Good.

Mustache Mondays at the Van Damme DOJO Presents: How a mustache learned about a school teacher's A-B-full-Cs.

Because the bar was collecting toys as charitable donations—and bringing a toy, coincidentally, qualified you for an open bar from 8 PM to 10 PM—I decided to do the right thing for underprivileged children and my underprivileged association with the opposite sex. And the wrong thing for my liver.

At 7:57 PM, I removed my ID from my wallet to prove to the bouncer I wasn't 30—the mustache adds five years to my age and five degrees of warmth to my upper lip. At 7:58 AM, after having a blonde with a Santa's hat and overbite wrap a paper-made bracelet around my wrist too tightly, I placed in the appropriate container at the front of Rebel Bar and Grill a VHS tape of Jean-Claude Van Damme's In Hell. After shortly considering the level of prison-set violence in the movie, at 7:59 PM, I requested in a silent prayer to Santa that he deliver it to a child the age of 8 or above—who's parents still owned a VCR. At 8:00 PM, having walked into the bar nearly two minutes before, I finally recognized the song playing too loudly from the bar's speakers—Ace of Base's "The Sign," the song playing from my fourth grade girlfriend's boombox while she told me that she was dumping me because "your mustache grosses me out." At 8:03 PM, I ordered a MGD 64 bottle, staring at my mustache in the mirror located behind all the liquor bottles. At 8:04 PM, I began drinking, mouthing the words to the last verse of "The Sign" in between 10 calorie pulls from the bottle.

Fast forward to 9:53 PM. For the last two hours, I've busy been doing three things: drinking 64 ounces of MGD at 10 minute intervals, dancing non-stop to various up-tempo tracks from the 90s, and chatting up the 41-year-old second grade teacher with the ABCs stitched on a pink sweater vest covering her not A, not B, but definitely full Cs. She came because some of her students will be receiving some of the toys donated to the bar. And she's just told me for the fifth time that I remind her of a younger version of Tom Selleck-as-Magnum, p.i., her favorite show when she was in college. For the first time, I tell her that she reminds me of an older Ari Graynor, then immediately head to the little boys' room. The 64 must be kicking in.


With my toy-bought stream of MGD 64 soon to be shut off at 10 PM, I started looking for the doorway with the bouncer who was a horrible judge of age. Before I took off, I leaned in toward her ABCs and told Ms. McChesterson one last thing: "If you'd like to see me again, Google Van Damme DOJO." As I turned away, it occured to me that about half of her students probably hadn't turned 8 yet, and therefore probably weren't yet ready to watch Van Damme brutally end the lives of other inmates in fights set up by a corrupt prison warden. I quickly said a second prayer, this time that the 7-year-olds' parents had already switched to DVD.

The next morning (my hangover, thanks to the light-as-it-gets beer, only 64% of what is when I make the mistake of imbibing Miller Lite), I discovered a new comment on my newest post, which features the video—about how I exacted my revenge Jean-Claude Van Damme-style, doing Van Dammage to my brother's bobblehead doll—made with the footage I shot of myself on Wednesday night. Although she was old enough to be a fan of Magnum p.i., apparently Ms. McChesterson wasn't so old to be unfamiliar with Googling.

I knew there was something weird about you at Rebel- here I find the answer! Kudos- you are quite a dedicated Van Dam LaBam Stan in a Can kind of man. Cheers hipster! Merry Christmas. `B in the pink.

Hipster? She must have thought my Selleck-esque 'stache was an "I'm too cool for school"-type fashion statement, reeking of insousiance and Pabst Blue Ribbon beer. Instead of the tribute to Eric Sloane, the mustache-wearing brother of Van Damme in Kickboxer that it is. But that's not the only thing she's confused about: she should have signed it, no doubt from the image of her sweater-front still stitched in my mind, "Cs in the pink."

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