ABRAHAM! SAY IT ISN'T SO!!!

As I lay in bed this morning, I began to think of the most important president this country has ever seen. But as I pondered his greatness, I asked the question puzzling us all - was abe lincoln gay? Here we have first-hand proof of abe's sexual preference, as shown to us by his participation in the Gay Parade. Who knew?

Wingspan

http://www.arenzphotography.com/max/

Nuff said.

P.S.: My favorites are 11, 12, 13, 17, 19, 21, 30, 34, 47, 50, 51, 52, 53, 55, 62, 63, 86, 88, 92, 100, 103, 104, 107 , 108, 111, 112, 113.

Possible wallets to trade: 34, 88, 126, and either 107, 108, or 113.

Totally stealing for a blog header: 129.

That is all.

Best Dad Ever

Having temporarily misplaced my titanium framed, German-engineered Uber-glasses, today I was forced to wear my old heavy black frame crooked-ass emo eyewear. When combined with my touseled, devil-may-care hairstyle and urbane little stubble, these glasses make me look quite the dour hipster.

Eat your heart out, Rivers Cuomo.

As if to complete this put-upon, enlightened, surrounded-by-sheep couterculture hero look, today my copy of On The Road came in the mail. My father heard me expressing casual interest and immediatly bought me a copy online. He gave it to me today, with this inscription:

Mx-Read This 7X Before You're 23
Love, Carter(DAD)

Best inscription ever, right? I thought so. Especially the "(DAD)" part. In case I forget.

Young Men And Motorcycles

So I recently heard from this girl I know that she read somewhere (my mom, in the star tribune) that some guy was struck and killed by lightning as he rode his motorcycle down the highway. Apparently, there wasn't much left of him except for a small crater in the road. Faced with such an undeniably manly exit strategy, I found myself thinking about this brave young man. Mostly, I desired more detail about his demise.

Based on his awesome decision to ride a motorcycle through a lightning storm, I think it's safe to draw some conclusions about his condition at the moment of truth:

1. He was not wearing a helmet.

2. He was pulling a wheelie.

3. He was holding on to the handlebars with one hand.

4. With the other hand, he was raising a middle finger to God.

5. He was screaming "C'mon, Zeus! Is that the best you can do, O mighty one!?! Strike me down! Smite my righteous ass, if you've got the balls!"

6. He was wearing a Manly Mustaches t-shirt.

I realize the Mustache shirt is a stretch, but if he already went the eight and a half yards, why wouldn't he seal the deal and don the black and white? He doesn't strike me as the type to be half-hearted about his final act.

Item! Battle Of The Bands is this friday at the football field. Come if you feel like it, but no pressure. The theme this year is "Catalyze," one of the weaker selections from a big list I gave them last year. I'm hoping for next year I can push through "Battle Of The Bands 2007: The Prophecy Has Been Fulfilled!" Our motto: This Was Meant To Be. The logo can be a bust of the Seer from that Classical Greek pediment on the Temple of Zeus; Art kids, you know who I mean. He stares into the distance, lost in thought, pondering the terrible power of the rock to come!

have YOU ever had a mustache sandwich?

For the Mustache Tweak of the Day, click here.

(You may have to watch a brief 30 second commercial, but it's worth it. His mustache is groomed quite well)

Lately Maxwell has been professing the "funky fresh" tunes of his Lincoln. Well, (not that we're going to have a funk-off) but the Neon is capable of thumpin' as well. I prefer a more..."silky smoothe" adventure whilst cruisin' in style. Playlist:

"Sweet Talkin' Woman"-ELO
"Peg"-Steely Dan
"Ebony Eyes"-Stevie Wonder
"Multiply"-Jamie Lidell
"Make Me Smile"-Chicago

I recommend listening to all of these while you hit the road. It will be well worth it!

Tonight I worked. As a telemarketer, we sit at a computer, a name pops up on the screen, and we have to immediately say "Hello, may I please speak to Mr/Mrs ______?" Obviously, it's a bit more polite to ask for Mr./Mrs., but occasionally you have a name that you just can't pronounce. So you are forced to ask their first name. (very rude) I called a lady who was quite Japanese. I didn't know how to pronounce her first name, and had NO idea on her last name. It was something to the effect of "Shikakorganawa." So I decided to say "May I please speak to Ms. (last name)?" Instead of saying "Shikakorganawa" I just said it REALLY fast and it sounded close to "Shee-can-oh-wa." The lady was like, "Wow! That's the first time anyone has pronounced my name correct!" What a clever, CLEVER mustache!

------------------------------------------------
I've been hearing rumors that Pelk is back in the hospital. Can anyone back this up? I must know!

Sam, do you work at Grizzly's?

TTFN (ta ta for now? or toe-touching-follicle-neighbor?)

and when you smile for the camera...

I Hate The Geek Squad

WOTF to people who think they’re the only ones who enjoy music.

Soundtrack for the biopic of my life (idea stolen almost entirely from Wanninger):

(Hackneyed and/or obvious selections with *)

Opening scene: Tiger Woods, Dan Bern
(Done at a full strut down a busy street at some important early juncture in my life. Listen to the song and you will understand entirely.)

Birth: Born At The Right Time, Paul Simon OR In The Ghetto, Elvis Presley*
(We’ll really need to see what happens before we make this call.)

Basketball showdown: Express Yourself, N.W.A.

Fight 1 (schoolyard): Sabotage, Beastie Boys
(Epic fight with a bully. Dust rising from the center of our scuffle quickly attracts a ring of viciously chanting third graders.)

Dance break 1: I Feel Good, James Brown
(We once played this song for pep band, and during the long pause at the end, Matt Blair yelled out “Hey!” like the Godfather of Soul himself. Damn.)

Time passing montage (ala Lion King): Once In A Lifetime, Talking Heads
(You know, the scene on the waterfall (during Hakuna Matata) where Simba changes from Jonathon Taylor Thomas to Matthew Broderick? Yeah, you know.)

Driving: Send Me On My Way, Rusted Root

Moment of self-doubt: Nobody’s Fault But My Own, Beck

Furious writing montage: Shadow Stabbing, Cake*
(Maybe a groundbreaking novel, maybe a rambling manifesto, maybe a Pulitzer winning article. Nobody knows.)

Dance break 2: My Name Is Prince, Prince
(My life requires a lot of dance breaks, okay?)

Fleeing falling objects from space: Space Junk, Devo
(I’m sure this will happen at some point in my life.)

Fight 2 (bar): Saturday Night’s Alright (For Fighting), Elton John*
(What’s up with gentle little Elton John making this kick-ass song? I’ll have to beat up some bikers or something to this tune.)

Unjustly imprisoned for crime I didn’t commit: Moonshadow, Cat Stevens
(Maybe murder, probably mail fraud.)

Prison life: What’s Happening Brother, Marvin Gaye

Breakout from maximum security facility: A-Team Theme, The A-Team
(The A-Team wrote and performed that song, right? Right.)

Falling in love: If It’s Magic, Stevie Wonder*

Losing in love: Jealous Guy, John Lennon

Regaining love: Handcuffs, Parliament Funkadelic

Fight 3 (airplane): Hit ‘Em High*
(Terrorists. Nuff said.)

Fight 4 (nursing home): Rudie Can’t Fail, The Clash
(Burly orderlies.)

Dance Break 3: B. O. B., Outkast
(I’ll move pretty good for an 80 year old.)

Death: Rock n’ Roll Suicide, David Bowie
(You’re not alone!)

Dance Break 4 (funeral): Tequila!, The Champs
(And they will dance into the credits.)

Closing credits: Me And Julio Down By The Schoolyard, Paul Simon AND Why Don’t We Do It In The Road?, The Beatles
(We’ll go out with some class.)

this one's for tom day

Sure, this comes a day late, but who cares.

With the 2nd pick of the 2nd round (32nd overall) the Penguins took Mr. Sneep.

Although he was not a mustache, nor an avid blog reader, we would like to tip our hats (and our mustaches) and wish him the best of luck.

Whoever is leaving these stupid anonymous comments

Can stop. They're not funny, and I'll turn off unregistered comments if they persist.

And Do You Know Where She Is Now? She's Dead!

I was worried about this blog. I hadn't been on in a couple of days, hadn't posted in a while...I fear blog decay. You neglect it for a few days, then a week, and before you know it, the fortnight is up and you've lost all your readers!

Thankfully, the Mustache blog is far from a solo venture. If one (or five or six) members decides to slack off for a few days (or weeks or months), it's not the end of the blorld (blog+world=blorld) as we know it. Someone else can always pick up the slack and the blog carries on. The group-blog: it's a beautiful thing.

Top Songs to Listen To In The Lincoln:

"Bowtie," "So Fresh, So Clean"-Outkast-- Both are excellent examples of musical artists talking about how good they look. Rockers can be moderately self-promoting, and I guess Paul Simon was "Born At The Right Time," but when it comes to bouncily danceable concieted boasting, you just can't beat rappers. I think the line "That's why the call me the gangsta mack, in the Cadillac!" was what pushed Outkast past Kanye for this spot.

"Once In A Lifetime"-Talking Heads-- Mostly because when the line "and you may find yourself behind the wheel of a large automobile" comes on, I get to look around, all confused-like, let go of the wheel, do a palms up half shrug, and say "How did I get here?" And my imaginary audience goes wild.

"Living For The City"-Stevie Wonder--I get to do my best Taylor Hicks impression, especially on the dance breaks. Watch for me next time you're driving north on 371; I'll be the one just a-herkin' and a-jerkin' like a spazzed-out silver fox.

P.S.: Lately it's been Kubas shouldering the heavy burden of reader entertainment. I thank you, Mr. President. Oh man, I'm going to have sophmores leaping up on chairs and saluting you by the end of band next year. "Oh Captain, My Captain!" and everything.

Futurama is back in production

Sweet.

do YOU have what it takes to join the bread party?

get our your pens and pencils! the first ever official bread party poll/questionnaire is here! it's a simple test. really.

1.) What is your favorite type of bread?
a.) White
b.) Wheat
c.) Pumpernickel
d.) Unleavened

2.) What do you put on toast?
a.) Margarine
b.) Butter
c.) Jelly
d.) Peanut Butter

3.) If you were alone and stranded on an island, which of the following would you desire?
a.) A Bread Maker
b.) A Toaster
c.) A Field of Wheat
d.) A Bread Tree

4.) Which Bread song is your favorite?
a.) “Make It With You”
b.) “If”
c.) “The Guitar Man”
d.) “Truckin’”

5.) Which Manly Mustache intrigues you the most?
a.) Max Kuehn
b.) Fayna
c.) Cameron Holmes
d.) Josh Johnson

...and here is the deep bread party analysis.

Question one:
If you chose letter A: You’re not exactly the best Bread Party material. Sure, you have room to improve—but we bread partiers embrace all aspects of life—not just bland whiteness.

If you chose letter B: So you like wheat bread…I’ll bet you like the Bread Party! You’re definitely familiar with section 2, subpoint c of the bread party manual which states: “the best bread partier enjoys high carbohydrate, protein, and vitamin consumption.” You are probably equally as aware that wheat bread provides these highly essential goodies to your diet. Well done fellow bread brethren!

If you chose letter C: You like pumpernickel? I’ll bet you didn’t know that pumpernickel is 100% rye bread…the Bread Party believes that 50% of anything is more than enough. We’re neutral. 50%=good. Oops, looks like YOU made a mistake. Feel free to consult our Bread Party Therapists…they’ll get you back on track to a "wholesome" life. (ahh! Get it?)

If you chose letter D: I’ll bet you’re religious. Watch out now—you better not be TOO religious. Perhaps you should consult “Father Bread” on how to live a loafier, grainy lifestyle.

Question two:
If you chose letter A: Hey! Fatty! Bread Party members are in shape. Go run.

If you chose letter B: If you use “I Can’t Believe It’s Not Butter!”—We hate you. The Bread Party strongly dislikes Fabio.
If you use any other type of butter, you’re in!

If you chose letter C: Not only are you a healthy aficionado de pan, but you have many varieties to choose from! The Party represents equality, and with no specific views on anything, any type of jelly goes!

If you chose letter D: Remember: We solve all of our problems with bread. Peanut butter generally leads to a sticky mouth…and the only solution: eat more bread! NO milk, pop, water, or juice for you…but feel free to guzzle the bread shake to quench your thirst.

Question three:
If you chose letter A: You have made a wise choice! But beware young grainhopper, you have no electricity or dough for this bread maker! Fool!

If you chose letter B: Ahh! You must enjoy toast! But, according to our record selling book “Bread Party for Dummies” you must have bread to make toast. No bread=no toast.

If you chose letter C: Alas! The correct decision! We love hard workers…and that’s what it’s going to take for you to turn your wheat into bread. In a few months you’ll have a full stomach.

If you chose letter D: You’re an idiot. There is no such thing as a bread tree. You aren’t quite bread party material.

Question four:
If you chose letter A: Wonderful selection! You’re a Partier at heart, and live life at the beat of your own drum. You can be defined by the song itself—

“Life can be short or long,

love can be right or wrong”

—deep thoughts. You’re in!

If you chose letter B: Well aren’t you the interesting Bread Party person. You lean a bit to the “emo/goth” side of life, and there’s nothing wrong with that. You identify yourself with the lyrics,
“If the world should stop revolving spinning slowly down to die,
I'd spend the end with you.”
It’s frightening that you only think about death, but the aforementioned “you” obviously means the Bread Party. You’re always thinking about us…You’re in!

If you chose letter C: You’re our musical member. You find yourself in one of these situations at least once a day:
-While in the grocery store, you pretend a loaf of bread is a microphone and begin singing.
-In the shower you practice singing the Bread National Anthem.
-You visit this site at least once a day.
-You don’t know how to play the spoons—you play the breads.
Perhaps Bread sums up your life best with your favorite song:
“Somethin' keeps him goin' miles and miles a day
To find another place to play.”
You’re in!

If you chose letter D: You’re…the indecisive breadperson. You can’t really make up your mind…but then again, as a member of our Party, you’re not allowed to. Good job. Just like your favorite song, you’re
“Always in a hurry
Always in between”
and that sits quite well with us. You’re in!

Question five:
If you chose letter A: Hey! Give yourself +10 bonus points. You’ve chosen a founder of the Bread Party…the most intelligent member, and the godfather of bread eating. Welcome…we’ve been waiting for you!

If you chose letter B: Wonderful! This Bread Man knows bread the best. If you travel to Italy and/or give Fayna an American green card, you’ll earn “member-for-life” status.

If you chose letter C: Oh! It’s another man who developed the foundation for what the bread party has become today. You’ve chosen the best actor. What’s his secret? A slice of wheat before each performance. He’s the hardest working hardware man in town, and he knows the values of our Party like no other.

If you chose letter D: You probably abuse little…young pieces of bread. You accept bread abuse as a natural part of your life. You are not a good member of the Bread Party.

Exhibit A:

From the blog archives of JoshM,

"I don't think there is anything inherently wrong in making money. However, I think it is inherently wrong to make money through unethical means. I know nobody will agree with me, but there is also something to be said about the purity of art, which should be produced for higher aims then being able to afford a BMW."

Exhibit B:

JoshM plans to spend his summer writing a potboiler in order to become filthy rich.

toejam football

so if anyone reads this, and they think they know what i'm talking about, july 2nd is no longer workable.

so we have to find a time where everyone will be here...and our "target" will be here as well. just give me ideas.

max--is your uncle rod? or don? or rod? i get all the names mixed up, i think i even made one up right there. ...because this could be a good conversation starter whenever i screw up. just imagine: "so, you're uncle to max kuehn?" the possibilities are endless!

nobody from brainerd advanced to elimination rounds at nationals...it's kind of sad.

that's all from this mustache.

Lyncoln, Lyncoln, Burning Bright...

Further proof of how great the Lincoln is:


Today, I was looking for a way to test the Lincoln's stealth capabilities. In an ingenious brainstorm, I thought to leave the Lincoln on when I parked at work.

It was not until nearly the end of my four hour shift that some particularly observant waitron noticed and told me about it. Clearly, all the other employees were unable to discern the sound of the Lincoln running, thanks to its unbelievably quiet idle noise. Anyone who did hear it must have assumed that a wild tigress had decided to take a nap under the hood, and the low rumble from within was merely her silky smooth purr of contentment. Really, metaphorically speaking, there is a sort of tiger under the hood of the Lincoln; its majestic, powerful V-8 engine has been favorable compared to a secretive jungle cat.

This little exercise also served to demonstrate the Lincoln's prodigious gas burning abilities. It managed to burn off nearly a quarter tank of gasoline; not half bad for a few hours of idling. Remember: every time you waste a gallon of gas, a hippie shaves his beard.

Potpurri...Or Popery?

I decided to move all my other random blog stuff to this post to avoid cluttering up the previous post. So:

1. You Know Who--You Know What at the You Know Where will work better for me tommorow (wednesday) as I work on thursday.

2. Because my grandmother has decided that my hair is "just perfect" at its current length, I'm going to get my grad pictures pretty soon here. I don't really care about them for the most part, but I have decided that I want one of them to be me, wearing a Fleet Farm shirt and a cowboy hat, astride a tractor. Does anyone know of a tractor I could use? A four wheeler could work in a pinch, but I think the proud farm-boy vibe I'm going for would be best transmitted by a big silly tractor.

3. I've posted here before about how much better my new job (hosting at Lost Lake Lodge) is than my last job (dishwashing at the aforementioned restaurant), but lately I've been having second thoughts. Hosting doesn't involve scrubbing or mopping or garbage hauling, but work in the "front of the house" lacks some of the comradery of the kitchen. We were like soldiers, fighting in the loud, hot trenches; we had a real Band Of Brothers thing going on. It was the sort of thing where you would seriously consider getting t-shirts to commemorate your experiences together.

4. Because I, unlike some of our lazier former teachers, am committed to self-improvment, I will spend my summer in deep study of fine literature, not wasting my time on movies.

Summer Reading List:
The Door In The Floor
The Great Gatsby
Memoirs Of A Geisha
A Heartbreaking Work Of Staggering Genius (imagine this one has a slash through it.)[Now it does! -Ed.]

That's all I've got so far. Any suggestions?

5. All you knowledg-a-bowl persons: where should Max go to college?

Stop Trying To Hit Me And Hit Me

In the proud tradition of finding connection where there is none:


While bumming around the streets of Brainerd I noticed a slight similarity between two newish signs. Both remind people to pay attention to the little things, but the connection I saw was much more subtle: Each sign uses the bolts holding it to its post to reinforce its message.

In the "Clean Up After Your Pet" sign, the lower bolt appears as a gleaming ball bearing of canine waste, seemingly small compared to the shadowy Malamute standing over it, but still having a potential cost of $700 if neglected. The sign's message, reenforced by the bolt, is that picking up after your pet is a small price to pay.

In the "Fastened?" sign, the upper bolt is placed suggestively through the forehead of the innocent silhouette in his car seat, effectively portraying a steering column to the skull after a crash. While a standard Goofus/Gallant layout may have been more clear, with the buckled Gallant safe and secure and the unbuckled Goofus bleeding internally, this sign saves space (and the viewer's valuable time) by combining an image of of how to ride the proper way with a chilling reminder of what happens to those who don't.

Coincidence? Probably. But maybe, just maybe, there's something happening here...

Mustaches in the news: not just for the internet anymore

Check out the back page of the Tech Knowlege (get it? Tech-knowledge-y hahaha) section in this Sunday's Brainerd Dispatch:



There are some other fine pictures of Brainerd life there as well.

Big Sky Country

While driving out to Crosby tonight (don't worry, I came back), I had a hard time staying on the road, not because of any noxious fumes or drunken streakers (suprisingly common problems in the C-I area), but because of the overwhelming beauty of the evening sky. In the west, it seemed as if someone had taken the sun and spread it out over the entire half of the sky, diffusing the brilliant orange point of light into a soft, red-orange field. There were no slanting rays of light or jagged shadows; the trees and fields themselves seemed to emit a gentle glow. It was glorious, but also slightly menacing. The sky looked the way I think the sky will look during Armegeddon.

As if to complement this apocolyptic vision in the west, a towering rainbow materialized in the eastern sky. I had to open up both side windows and the skylight to comprehend the whole thing. It was so large and so high in the sky that the ends curved back towards the middle, hinting at its true circular nature. As if to emphasize the bright colors of the rainbow, it formed over a field of dark clouds, the color of a fresh bruise.

How amazing was this sky? It managed to make Crosby look beautiful. Case dismissed.

Okay, that's enough waxing poetic for now. Keep watching the skiiiiiiiieeeeesss!

mustache football

we're looking for a few good men. or women.

nick anderson (a fellow mustache) is running a fantasy football league. if you feel you're of our caliber, a dedicated fantasy footballer, and have $5, feel free to e-mail me and i'll hook you up with the ID/password. (it's on yahoo obviously)

**note: the league has no affiliation with the manly mustaches.

i'm beating houle!

actually, i don't know about this. but i'm guessing i'm way in the lead for all rookies.

jason: tonight one man gave me $500!! incredible! it was on a .007 commission, so i was rolling in the dough. plus any gift over $250 you get $5 on the spot. it was insane.

so, folks, that makes the 4 day phoning tally at roughly $3000 for the democratic party. you can all thank me later.

Oh Kubas

This will mean very little to very few people with the exception of our own Muslim Magic. But it will mean oh so much to him.


Like my identity theft prevention technique?

Mustaches In The News

Go to the Brainerd Dispatch site and scroll to the bottom, once again the Mustaches are front page news. You can't miss Bundy's bright blue eyes and the bread mask surrounding them.

Straw Pole

Time for some informal polling of the mustache public:
1. I've developed a habit of rolling down all the windows in the Lincoln and rocking out to VLF (Very Loud Funk). Good or bad?
2. My dad was looking through his huge pile of audio equipment when he came across a special microphone with a suction cup for recording phone conversations. He gave it to me. Is this "awesome" (-my dad) or "creepy" (-my sister)?
3. We've definitely decided to finish the film (I Shall Avenge My Father). I spent a few hours today drafting our formal apology; it'll be a special feature on the DVD. Do you want to see the movie?



An old favorite from the trusty Dispatch. If you don't get the joke, I'll explain it in private sometime.

Dead Sexy

Everyone, meet Jesus Jimenez. He is dead sexy, and very pissed off.

andrew kubas

i've stolen like $2000 from innocent people in 3 days.

the elderly
unemployed
deathly ill
those living on food stamps

they don't realize we get a commission on the pledges.
i feel dishonest.
------------------------------------
i've stopped swearing.

new fun words:

"god dominican!"
"you're a hemorrhoid"
"tookoo tookoo"
"baah"
------------------------------------
andrew kubas song of the day:

"multiply" by jamie lidell.


buhbye.

Treasure Hunt II Officially Postponed

Probably to next wednesday or thursday.

This really should be on capstar, but mattson has apparently not seen it as pertinent to post it there.

Cathleen Turner Overdrive

So I was driving home this evening (in my mother's Maxima, not the Lincoln, as my sister had the latter at work. I was particularly disappointed not the have the Lincoln because I had only earlier today created a playlist, entitled "Funkadelic," designed soley to provide appropriatly funky driving music for the Lincoln. A little Bowie, some Sly Stone, and a generous portion of Parliment Funkadelic...a solid mix. Lacking the Lincoln's functional tape deck, however, I was reduced to pacing my drive by that crusty standby, the Power Loon.) listening to the Power Loon, when Dire Straits' "Money For Nothing" starts up.

I'd just been playing Guitar Hero so I was thirsty for some air-guitar action. Money For Nothing didn't disappoing; the first 40 seconds is all just a huge building intro to the massive guitar riff--

Ba-wap! Ba-de-ne-nung, ba-da-na-na Ba-Wap! Ba-de-ne-nung!

Yeah! Fuck yeah! I rolled down all the windows, then threw open the sunroof for maximum sound leakage. No, fuck leakage. This is sound flow, high pressure and high volume; I'm moving more cubic feet of sound than the mighty fucking Mississippi.

But once we got past that initial solo guitar rampage and the words started to come, they seemed all wrong. This song was supposed to be about the Beverly Hillbillies, not...moving microwaves? Refrigirators? Color TVs? What had happened to the lyrics I remembered? Then I realized that the version of this song that I knew and treasured was not the original but rather "Weird" Al Yankcovic's kooky cover. Betrayed once again by Weird Al's consumate muscianship, I was reduced to belting out the guitar part a capella.

The preceding was written in the style of David Eggers' A Heartbreaking Work Of Staggering Genius. I wanted a change.

One more item of note: I saw Robyn Werberg tonight and she informed me that she is an extra in the audience in A Prarie Home Companion (the movie, not the radio show. Do radio shows have extras?). When I asked how she got the spot, she offhandedly mentioned something about how her cousin's step-dad was the director. That's right, there are now merely THREE degrees of seperation between myself and Robert Altman, FOUR to Woody Harrelson, and FIVE to Wesley Snipes. Damn it feels good to be a gangster...

Space Cucumbers

Some of you from the Lowell years may remember a game we used to play on the playground. I don't remember all of the specifics, but it was an epic saga in which we played a crew of valiant space-exploring/evil-fighting cucumbers.

Our foes were the monstrous pickles, who had some sort of pickling-rays, which they could use to turn cucumbers to the dark side (well, the slightly-darker-shade-of-green side anyway). We played this game for many weeks, picking the story back up during each recess. I guess maybe this was our D & D?

Anyway, there was an inspiration for this post other than the general awesomeness of this space saga. This shirt was just released on Threadless today:



I suggest you buy one.

Oh, and if any of you think acting out a months-long story arc in which you play space-exploring cucumbers is in any way weird: you are sadly mistaken.

Bad things that happened to me today:

1. I elected not to go swimming at Grand View, seeing as I did that yesterday and just didn't feel like it, only to discover this meant also missing out on free pirate golf (no, not the Warsong Gulch kind).

I'm still waiting for number two.

Neoclassicism: Neither Neo, Nor Classical. Discuss.

My utterly idle summer situation has left me feeling in a rut. I'm feeling creative, want to make something, want a project, but I'm not sure what. I'll do another scavenger hunt, but it'll have to be much more involved to satisfy my current urge to make something cool. Maybe some big unifying theme, or a deeper mystery, or something. Otherwise, here's what I'm thinking:

Novels: No ideas. I guess I could consult on Mattson's (as of yet unwritten) masterpiece.
Sculpture/Painting: Too hard
Music: See Sculpture/Painting
Poetry: LAME

So, what does that leave us with?

Performance art: Something with Mexican wrestlers. Big characters, emphasis on cult of machismo, costumes and masks for flair and anonymity. I'm feeling next school year, in the courtyard. Four people hold up corner posts with a few ropes strung between them, and bingo, we've got a wring of destruction. I suspect it will be broken up pretty quickly by school authorities. But we should be able to get in a few good bodyslams and dropkicks before then.

Mechanical construction: An RC robot would be fun, but awful pricy. And lord knows Sam Walker wouldn't put any money into it. Hey, how about a remote controlled potato cannon? We could raise all sorts of ruckus with that. Sam, draw up some plans.

Movie production: Public demand has forced our hand. We're going to have to finish I Shall Avenge My Father, the sequel to the blockbuster I Shall Avenge My Uncle. We only have a couple of scenes left, but post-production will be some work. This feature should be around an hour, and the DVD will be loaded with special features: interactive menus, deleted scenes, outtakes, easter eggs. Hell, maybe even some director commentary. Kurt, we'll have to work out some details.

It's a Mercury!!

After over a year of suffering without a car, the Janitor is in business. The 2001 Mercury Grand Marquis, with V8 power, a 7.5 second 0-60 and a deluxe sound system, is a thing of beauty. This car would KILL Kubas' Neon and Max's Towncar at anything and everything. All for a discount price of only $6000. I might just get the Manly Mustache logo painted in black on the hood to make it the official car of the Manly Mustaches.

Good things that happened to me today:

1. I started listening to The Mouse & The Mask, byt then had to leave to do something. I left it playing, and by the time I got back it had played though the entire album (on loop) and returned exactly to where I had left off.

(I'm still waiting for number two)

Max Kuehn def. Blogger

I love cars.

Well, actually I don't really care for other people's cars, or their drivers. And I'm not too crazy about roads through forests, or driving on boring roads I know, or driving on scary roads I don't know, or really driving in general. I also dislike all the constant hassle of car care, and the fact that I don't know anything about cars and don't want to but still worry that all of the condescending mechanics think I'm dumb.

But if you exclude all those things, you might consider me a car lover. Because all that's left is my car, a powder blue '89 Lincoln Town Car (or "Honest Abe" as I like to call it). From its 4 acre hood to its Olympic swimming pool-sized trunk, from its mirrored fenders to its advanced on-board "computer," I do love this car, all 8000 pounds and 17 miles per gallon of it.

However, I do have a few issues with it. Well, not really with the car itself. Just with other people who have driven/owned it. Namely, my sister Maya and cousin Sam. Now, generally I consider both of them to be reasonable, even likable people. After all, they are both regular readers of this blog, which automatically makes them smarter and better looking than most. However, both committed the unforgivable sin of not belonging to the same cult of Lincoln-lovin' as my father and I do.

All we ask is that the Lincoln be preserved in perfect, immaculate condition for all time. Is that too much to expect? But the abuse of these two nonbelievers has left our beloved Abe with no fewer than three paint chips, one broken speaker cover, and worst of all, a vicious dent in the front right fender. I love you Maya, but...C'mon.

P.S.: Sam Walker's bike says both "Mountain Climber" and "Roadmaster" on it, neither of which truthfully describes Sam Walker. They should be changed to "Potato Chip Eater" and "Mattson Gofer" to ensure accuracy.

P.P.S.: I played Jordan's Guitar Hero game on Tuesday. It's sort of like Dance Dance Revolution, except instead of dancing you play guitar, using a custom guitar shaped controller. I hereby challenge all comers to a guitar duel. Prepare to have your faces melted. And you all said my power stance practice would never come in handy...

better days will come...(good song!)

man, is our blog dying? we used to average something like 8.6 posts per day, and now we're down to the occasional "mustache update" every few days. you think we could do better with six contributors! perhaps we're in that post-folky farm depression.

this is kind of a potpurri post...so enjoy even if nothing makes sense to you.

first off, if houle reads this, on weekends the 2-hour-parking law/enforcement doesn't apply. so feel free to park next to meyer's. (i saw your car in the senior lot today)

second, wow...we had our first summer marching band practice. i was REALLY GLAD that max and gracia were able to make it. sure..."SURE" i can understand that you have to "work" or attempt to eat your newborn pug puppies...but really, isn't marching band more important? at least jenden can pull off the excuse "I'm like 5000 miles away..." i've decided to give my interpretation of the sections tonight. enjoy.
Flutes: B-
Clarinets: B+ (there were like only 2 of them..but did good)
French Horns: C-
Trombones: D
Baritones: NC (no one even showed!)
Tuba: NC (read above)
Saxophones: D-
Drums: F
Trumpets: B+ (hey, we had people and did decent. who could guess THAT?)
Overall performance: D (ouch)
Man, if this band is supposed to be "better" I'm not buying it. We NEED some P-I-M-P sophomores.

Third, on a sadder note tonight, I was able to visit Pelkey in the hospital. Man, that poor guy. I don't know much about medical stuff...but he didn't look too good to me. It could've been all the drugs/groggy stuff that he was on, but I just left to let him get some more sleep. Please (seriously) pray for him...and if you have the time to drop by, give him a visit at the hospital. I hope he gets a good laugh from my card and flowers! (hetero life partners unite!)

Last, I kind of mentioned it before, but I'd really like to see some more updates from the entire mustache nation. (Whether you're a contributor or not!) How's your summer going? Work? Love? (not applicable to sam walker, he feels no emotion) You get the drift.

how does the other side live?

FIRST and foremost,

You are cordially invited to Adam Pelkey's grad party tomorrow. (Actually, you might wanna ask him first, but I'm just gonna post the stuff...[Pelk this is good P.R.!])

It's from 1:00-4:00 at his house. I won't be there until 3:15ish, but I highly encourage everyone to go. He's that amazing. (Jake: let's invade) Give him a lot of money. Word on the street says if attendance is high enough, he'll flex his right arm and shred his sleeve.




There's also a silent auction...highest bidder receives his recently removed wisdom teeth. What a party!

----------------------------------------

This week I started working at Meyer Teleservices. That's right, I'm a telemarketer. AND a Republican. Let me expound on this...

Meyer was created by Democrats. Owned by Democrats. 99% of the workers are Democrats. We call and raise money for Democrats, Democratic campaigns, the DNC...anything left-wing related. (in case you missed it the first time: I'm a Republican)

The entire goal is to raise money. Steal money. Take money. We have a script we read asking for money. If they say no...we read something else asking for a little less money...if they say no again, we read a third script asking for a minimal amount. (That's 3 different "asks")

So I call this lady. "Would you be willing to give...$XXX"
Lady: "I'm sorry, my 3-year-old son just died. I have to pay for the funeral..."
Me: "Oooohhh!! I'm so sorry!" (2 seconds of awkward pause)
Me: "Would you be willing to give $XXX"
Lady: (phone:) [click]

GOD I'M A DOUCHE

I'm blaming this on the left-wing fundraising strategy.

Obviously, that was a blatant bash on the Democratic Party. I'm not categorizing here, so all you left-wingers please don't RAPE me with "how little" I know about politics or how I'm a "typical Republican" that is generalizing my concepts of your fundamental ideologies. Sure, I get it.

If this job sucks the life and soul out of me, I beg for your forgiveness.

the folky farm experience

At Mr. Kubas’ behest, he, Jennifer Dens, and I departed this evening for exotic Pine River and the famed Folkeringa home, alternately described as the Folkeringa Plantation and, best of all, the Folky Farm. Gracia had entertained us all with stories of their new, barn-based lifestyle, replete with four-wheelers and dead mice. Example: during the recent hot spell, when things got too warm in Folky Villa, the most obvious solution was to cut a new window out of the wall.

[The exotic scenery of a "Native" of Pequot Lakes]

The main house in particular was singled out for unappealing description by Ms. Folkeringa. She had provided such a sordid description that we figured we could pick out the house without much help. It would be the one made of mud brick with a thatched roof and a stench cloud visible at 5 miles rising above it.

[***Editor's Note: Not the actual Folky Farm]

After crossing paths with this house on County Road 1, we soon learned the REAL Folky Farm was located on County Road 2. The Kuehn Van (infamously dubbed "The Mustachemobile") was flying down the highway at 40 MPH in genuine anticipation. After unintentionally passing the Folky Farm once, twice, then three times, we discovered even more Pine River "mansions" and the "Manleyest" mailbox in all of America.

We debated as to whether the numerous chickens would run merely around the yard or within the house itself. We knew that the Folkeringas were good people, but we still worried that after six months of Pine River living, their home life had degraded into one long sit on the front porch swing, needlepoint and whittling for Gracia and Jacob, respectively, while Mr. Folkeringa strums a banjo and sucks a piece of wheat and Mrs. Folkeringa sews a quilt for Gracia’s promise chest.

Once we arrived, however, all our hopes for transport back to a simpler, nobler, agrarian past were lost when the house turned out to be actually rather nice.

While waiting for Jacob to return from "work," we were delighted to observe the interior of the Folky Farm. One never knows what you might discover! ...likewise, it may be very difficult to interpret the foreign language from Pine River.

Kubas used his super-strength to help Gracia move some furniture and we bathed in the soft gold and maroon of Jacob’s Gopher den. While we were used as guinea pigs to test out food for Gracia’s grad party, the house as a whole was disappointingly pleasant.

Even when the tour continued into the farm proper, the Folkeringa plantation as a whole stayed unfortunately nice. Later joined by Jacob, we toured the three barns: the Kitchen Tune-Up barn (filled with nails, boards, and some very silly jugs), the vehicle barn (home to Jake’s comically large ATV, the “Big Bear 400”), and the most interesting structure—the white barn.



Ah, the white barn, (we don't actually have a picture of it) home to Jake’s favorite dentist/fake seizure chair, two Frisbees, and three, count ‘em three, Razor scooters, which seems to me a rather silly amount for a family with two children and no pavement on their property. Kubas and I found some space on the street and soon took solace in the pure freedom of the open road.

The most enticing feature of the white barn, however, was the adjoining (two-seater!) outhouse. Kubas had long heard of this mystical structure from Jacob, and the two engaged in some manly conversation while astride their respective thrones. The two quickly improvised when reading material proved scarce.

When we tired of Frisbee and the Folkeringa hound, we set off in Jake’s bandy-mobile for glittering Pine River. I wanted to just have a quiet night on the town (or as quiet as possible, given the inevitable wackiness and excitement of any time spent in Pine River), but Kubas and Jacob were determined to raise Purgatory and paint the town gray.

Dairy Queen, as the bustling hub of this swirling, pulsating metropolis, seemed the perfect place to start our whirlwind tour. We ordered our thousand calorie snacks and familiarized ourselves with some of the more personable elements of Pine River. Jacob pressed the flesh while Kubas began his quest to learn more about his new town. Question one: What does one call a person from Pine River? Our friendly server claimed the proper title was “River Rats,” but we remained skeptical.

[Editor's Note: This was the nicest guy in the world! He deserves a raise!]

Just across the way was the noble Freedom Park, 1000 square feet of genuine pure American free (but not "free") soil. The soil was practically still wet with the blood, sweat, and tears of the men who fought to keep it liberated. We had some fun with the memorial and Gracia learned to obey the rules of the park…the hard way.

As we contemplated our veterans’ ultimate sacrifice and ate our ice cream, we realized that we were not alone. Two cars were full of mysterious persons, shrouded in mystery and blue smoke. We had inadvertently stumbled upon the other side of Pine River, the seamy underbelly, the stinky underarm, the festering athlete’s foot of the city. Two cars of rowdy teens, so addled by a combination of hormones and paint thinner that Kubas had to ask them what they called themselves a few times to get a straight answer.

Kubas: What do you call a person from Pine River?
Jack Uppercut/Rock Strongo/Rowdy Teen 1: Bad-ass mutha-fucka.

Jake drove by them two more times as the rest of us gave muffled protests and prayed for safe delivery from switchblades and Molotov Cocktails. The worst we got was a woozy middle finger.

Our tour expanded out, over the majestic dam, through the idyllic campground, and down the historic (and hilariously short) main street. Our worries about the sordid state of affairs for youth in Pine River these days were alleviated by the well-meaning crowd outside the youth center. We got big stares each of the first three time Jake cruised by, then a round of applause the last time. Good kids.

We closed out our magical evening at the local elementary/middle/high/graduate school. From here on out, we mostly just found things to climb so Jennifer could take pictures of us atop them. On the rather nice basketball courts, Kubas let out his inner monster and performed a truly amazing feat of agility, a feat made possible, no doubt, by his al quaeda training camp experience. I hope the video turns out, Jen…

In the end, Pine River was not what we expected. There were no flower print dresses, no barn raisings—hell, we didn’t see one chicken. But we did find something else, something more than a mere bucolic paradise. We found a town filled with promise and potential, brimming with community spirit and pride, full to bursting with youth (both misguided and well intentioned) and energy. With the Folkeringa family at its head, this hot young town is on the move, leading the charge into the new millennium. So everybody, get on board! This train is leaving the station! This train is bound for glory!

Special Thanks:
[Writers: (mostly) Max, (some) Kubas]

[Editor: Kubas]
[A HUGE thanks to Jennifer Dens for all her hard work helping us with the pictures!!! She was the best guest-contributor we could have had!]
[Tip of the Hat to the entire Folkeringa family! What hospitality! What cuisine! What a dog! What a lifestyle!]
[Special high fives go out to Jake and Gracia for allowing us to invade thier private property]
[The entire Pine River city deserves a warm "Thank You!" from the entire Mustache Nation.]
[I'm giving myself an A+ for the genius mind to upload each and every picture by means of HTML mode.]