A Tale of Two Moustaches

Last year for finals, the gang and myself decided that we should each grow a Finals Beard™, aka Playoff Beard™. Or in Ah Jota's case, a Finals Random-Patches-of-Nappy-Hair-on-the-Face™. The results of said decision were documented on this blog, as well as the tragic facial hair experimentation which followed. Some people are still laughing at The Spurlock to this very day.

Well midterms are fast approaching and it was suggested that we repeat that endeavor. I told them repeated beard-fests would make them lose their specialness. Much the same as when Legal Counsel tells me that if I were allowed contact (hugging, holding hands, etc), I wouldn't appreciate it as much. She loves me. So the Beard-Off was called off. We need a compromise. And thus the Midterms Moustache™ was born.

A moustache growing festival (in Germany, Moustachenfesten) is just what this school needs. With the new curriculum, barely-started construction and random T-Rex attacks bringing everybody down, there needs to be something to lighten the mood. And nothing is funnier than a guy with a moustache. Except maybe two guys with two moustaches.

But there's one problem: my moustache growing skills are sub-par*. Here's a little analogy action all up at ya:

Ah Jota : Beard :: Montgomery : Moustache

At best hilarious and at worst offensive to highway patrolmen and 80s porn stars, my moustache is not quite full. I'm no Geraldo. Not even close to a John Stossel. Far from a Ron Burgundy. I barely achieve a Clark Gable. Legal Counsel can't look at me without laughing. Well, more so than usual.

The main problem is the center of my lip. It can't grow hair. At all. You can give me the "Shhh" motion without ever touching hair. It's a condition which I shall give the medical sounding name "Philtrum Alopecia." I look like reverse Hitler, which is fitting since I'm an anti-racist. I don't see color, only shades of grey, like Colbert. I suppose I'm also reverse Chaplin, which is also fitting because I talk so damn much.

The most unfortunate consequence of my condition is that it makes me look Freedom. People might mistake me for a Crepe eating, Jerry Lewis loving, baby eating, cigarette smoking, army surrendering Freedom man. Sickening. I'm almost tempted to shave it for that reason alone. Almost.

The most fortunate consequence of my condition is that my two little Whisker Walkers have developed personalities and backstories.

The two entities commonly known as Montgomery's moustache are actually two French-American brothers named Maurice and Michael. Maurice, the older of the two and the one on Montgomery's left, was born in France in 1974. His parents, Jean-Luc and Amelie, hated France and were saving their money to get out. Their plans were slightly delayed when Amelie got pregnant, which was inevitable since everybody in France loves to get drunk and have unprotected sex. With the birth of Maurice (a beautiful 2 oz eyebrow at birth), Jean-Luc began his new career: counterfeiting currency. This job was quite easy since the French have used shiny rocks as money since 1799. The soon had enough to get lessons in speaking American and escape.

They flew to America in 1982. Maurice was fascinated by the stewardesses and vowed to one day Fly the Friendly skies. Jean-Luc swore to disown his son if that ever happened, screaming "No son of mine will fly around in a skirt!" Everybody on the plane was staring and Amelie was rather embarassed. She has yet to forgive her husband.

In America, Amelie accidentally got pregnant again...probably because of Republican policy-making. They gave their second son a more American name - Michael - and loved him just as much as Maurice. But after the incident on the plane, Maurice already felt neglected and was very jealous. He ran away from home in 1990 to pursue his 2 dreams: performing on Broadway and attending Flight Attendant school.

Back at home, Michael became a more academic, less flamboyant version of his older brother. The trouble at home coupled with feeling out of place as the child of immigrants made him a shy boy who always tried to please everybody else. His mother was very clingy, seeing as how she only had one son left. Jean-Luc remained stoic and unflinching, although Amelie would claim that he cried at night for the loss of his son.

Michael grew up hoping to attend medical school. His parents would tell him that they didn't have enough money, which became a cause of constant fighting at home. Michael secretly held on to his dream, but worked hard at his father's vineyard to try to earn his parents' love.

Then one day in 2006, an older, wiser Maurice returned home. Sneaking into Michael's room, he whispered, "I've lived my dream, now it's your turn. Dad will try to destroy you like he tried to destroy me. Pack your things, I'm flying you to medical school." And that night they were gone. The two brothers latched on to a young medical student named Montgomery so they could go to class for free. Michael for learning, Maurice for watching after his younger brother. And that's where they've been ever since.

And that's the story behind the moustache brothers. Too bad they're both going to die by razor in 2 weeks. Sad, really.

I think drafting a story about the life and times of my moustache ranks among the weirdest things I've done on this blog. I'm losing it...

*Why is calling something sub-par bad when being below par in golf is good?