Commander Flex Plexico's Mustache of the Week: Jorts Edition

Summer is in full swing ladies and gentlemen, bring out yer jorts!!  I present, for your viewing pleasure, the Mustache of the Week:

Now, you might be asking yourself, "Flex, how can you declare a mustache of the week without actually seeing this gentleman's face??"  Well, boys and girl (maybe?? let's not kid ourselves), this fellow quite obviously has a mustache that would make your upper lips' fall off in shame, for a few simple reasons: 1) jorts are rockin' ^ max, most likely with carpenter hammer loop thingy on the other side, 2) even without a full blown mullet, his hair is still trying it's damnedest to be as creepy as possible and throw a party in the back, 3) because fuck shirts, that's why, 4) his wife easily has him outclassed by at least 4 stone, 5) his son's badass rat tail, which I will singlehandedly bring back into style, even if it kills me, 6) I'm going to assume they're in Florida, because it's common knowledge that "The Swamp" in downtown "Gator Country" is the epicenter of all jorts on the planet, as Tim Tebow currently resides there, and 7) sorry to say, but American flag on the wheelchair.  Apparently, and I'm pretty sure they have sufficient evidence for this, Canada has some interesting nicknames for the lower 48 (they even have Florida as the "Prince Everhard of the Netherlands", which I'm not going to dispute).

And finally, a big birthday shout-out to Walter:

I'm glad you're finding time to get out on the town this summer, what with your "full-time, real job."  Obviously, you brought some work with you in your little backpack.

-CFP

Commander Flex Plexico's Mustache of the Week Tutorial

For those of you (Burgundy) who aren't as blessed as the rest of us.

Commander Flex Plexico's Mustache of the Week (6/9): U.S. Open Edition

I've been getting some requests from my fellow bloggers to keep up with current mustache related events.  So, in line with the times, today's blog will feature notable mustaches of the PGA Tour, in honor of the U.S. Open.

From the Mustache Open, keep up the good work, boys

If any of our readers have played EA's Tiger Woods golf games, our first mustachioed face might be one they know better than they may believe.  Gary McCord, golf commentator, easily the best mustache in all of golf, and master of the obvious (Yes, Gary!! Thank you for pointing out that I should avoid hitting 4 shots in a row into the water on the 17th at Sawgrass, I was unaware).  In all fairness, Mr. McCord might not even still be doing the in-game play-by-play, the last few installments I've turned off the commentators before I even began playing; the pros don't have to put up with his shit, so neither do I. 

Gary McCord: The John Madden of Golf

Next is an elusive beast: the victorious golf mustache, shown in prime form.  That's Corey Pavin, and that is Corey Pavin's mustache claiming it's prize.  As you will see, the success rate for golfing mustaches is remarkably low.

Pavin's mustache can only be appeased with large cups . . . . large cups and blood

If we look at any of the truly great golfers (Nicholas, Palmer, Player, Woods, etc.), we notice an inverse correlation between mustached-ness and goodness.  These boys are as smooth as the day they popped out.  Now, if we've learned anything from my mindless ramblings, which I really pray you haven't, greatness in sport is achieved through mustaches, so if greatness in golf is achieved sans mustache, then, via the transitive property, golf =/= sport, literally, golf is 1/sport.

Next we can see . . . . OH WHAT THE FUCK!!!  Honestly, readers, I don't give a shit about this.  If you've gathered anything from my previous postings, watching / following professional golf is low on my sports priorities.  Maybe if these pansies carried their own bags, didn't make millions of dollars, or didn't bang their egregiously hot wives so much, they might have the time to take up a real sport, like Gloucestershire Cheese Rolling.  That motherfucker is a champion amongst men, and he gets a cheese wheel, so everyone wins.  

Look at this next guy, Miguel Angel Jimenez.  Perhaps it's the soul-glowed ginger perm talking, but this guy reminds me of Captain Insano, circa 1976, with just a hint of Nicholas Cage smile (look closely). 

"I'm looking for a treasure map on the back of the Declaration of Independence . . . . in 1976" 

This next gentleman might be the best known mustache in golf, Craig Stadler, aptly named "The Walrus," most likely due to his penchant for dinning on penguins mid round.  Seriously golf . . . SERIOUSLY?!?!

He is the Walrus . . .

Now, to be frank with you readers, this post has been stewing since Tiger Woods made his infamous (at least, in my eyes) comments a week or so ago, questioning whether anyone still pays attention to hockey, namely the Stanley Cup Fucking Finals.  I'm not gonna stand here on my e-soapbox and scream about how NHL viewership is up by X% over the last 3 year period, or how golf's target demographic is the same as "Oops, I Crapped My Pants," even though this being the American Internet, I have every right, neigh, duty to do just that.  I'm just going to say, why start shit, Tiger?  Hell, I enjoy playing golf, as do many other hockey players, and yes, most people would rather race to Boone's Farm than watch an early season NHL game between the Blackhawks and the Blues.  But every other opportunity you've had to take a stand on anything: Fuzzy Zoeller, Rory Sabatini, that chick and her lynching comments, you've dodged like Peter LeFleur.  But you're going to kick the NHL when it's down?? (which, in all fairness, is most of the time).  Tiger, being the big deal that you are, and making more money in a day than this blog will be worth if we were to post the cure for the creepin' herp', makes it so that you have nearly limitless influence with your words.  Take a stand against racism, poverty, homelessness, drugs, violence, foreign wars, gingervitis, whatever.  But don't pick on the scrawny ginger of current events that is the NHL.  Because I'm sure you've never done a bag skate, and I know you've never "climbed the mountain" repeatedly, and I'm damn sure you've never held the collective efforts of 22 other guys on your ability to come through when they need you.  Hockey is beautiful, just like golf is in it's own way, so don't be a douche . . . . lest people might learn a thing or two about Tiger Woods . . .

My prediction, Tiger wins, like usual.  This story is getting old, is there anything else on??

-Flex

Commander Flex Plexico's Mustache of the Week (6/2): NBA Finals Edition

Hello gentle readers.  I'm going to venture into a subject I'm not all that familiar with in today's mustache of the week: the baskets-balls.  Now, don't get me wrong, I've been known to "shoot-the-hoop," as the kids say nowadays, its just that I tend to stick to more manly sporting activities (i.e. hump-catting, bear-blasting, and the like).  But, if you're like me, with functioning eyes, ears, and maybe even sense of smell, you've been inundated with nothing but stories about the upcoming Boston Celtics - Los Angeles Lakers NBA final.  

In my opinion, the frequency of this series makes it old news.  The NBA could have remedied this, and beefed up the game a little, by simply taking the advice I've been sending them in my letters, starting back in 1976 . . . BASKETS-BALLS TO THE DEATH!!  Apparently, however, my suggestions are "dubious at best," and further communications on my part will result in "prosecution to the fullest extent of the law."  Sounds like a whimpering cry for help from a second tier sport, if you ask me.

But I digress.  Back to the matter at hand.  Based solely on the badassitude of the mustaches of those associated with these teams, I, Commander Flex Plexico, will tell you, the significantly less attractive, in deep sports gambling debt, parent's basement living in, mail order bride having, meth addicted reader, who will win the series.  Lets get started.

First, the Lakers:

 

Phil Jackson: Coach

You remember the ending of Pee Wee's Big Adventure, where they make a movie out of Pee Wee's

 exploits to find his bike??  Jackson looks like the manned up actor they chose to play Pee Wee.  Double points!! 

Kurt Rambis: some guy that used to be on the Lakers

+500 points for the rapist glasses and the "I'm gonna gitcha, boy" tongue

Pau Gasol: Current Laker

+1 million points for looking remarkably similar to one of the bloggers here at JRSSOI

Now, the Celtics:

Larry Bird: the reason why short, white guys  go to the rec and get embarrassed

As you can see, Bird's mustache is elusive.  This painting was the only still frame

evidence I could find, and you still have to look closely.  Turns out, the sweetness of the 'stache

immediately disintegrates cameras.  The individual who painted this picture died directly after brushing

the mustache on (they painted the rest of the picture first, wisely) of natural causes (in this case, natural = spontaneous

 combustion of eyeballs followed by jaw falling off)

+ 10 billion points (x2 bonus for the golden power mullet accentuation) 

Insano, you could pull this off, get to work!!

The Boston Three Party: The only reason why anyone from New England will shut up about the Red Sox for 30 seconds (Fair Weather TO THE MAX!!)

-200 points, I'm seeing very little mustache action from Alvin, Simon, and Theodore, here

So, for those of you keeping track at home, that puts the final score at 1,000,500ish for the Lakers, 9,999,999,800 for the Celtics.  But, if we think about the general population of these cities, who do you think has more gentlemen with douchey little lip accents, drinking high priced coffee-esque drinks??  That's right, LA!!  Bostonians wear their stately chinstraps, manly, yes, but paltry in comparison to the mighty douchestache.  Given this, and the fact that New England, Boston maine-ly (get it!?!?),  can go to Hell, the Lakers win!!!

CFP's Prediction: Lakers in four, outscoring the Celts 600-47 in the series.  Suck a dry one, Boston!!

Until next time, remember this: "Looking for peace is like looking for a turtle with a mustache: You won't be able to find it. But when your heart is ready, peace will come looking for you.”            -Ajahn Chah

. . . . wait just one goddamn second!!  Ajahn, I understand what you're trying to get at, the futility of the search for peace, yadda yadda yadda, but are you telling me that when my heart is ready, a fuckin' turtle with a fuckin' mustache will come and find me??  Sweet sassy molassy, I can't wait!!

-Flex

Commander Flex Plexico's Mustache of the Week (4/28): NHL Playoff Edition

  Welcome to your weekly installment of machismo . . . it's Commander Flex Plexico's Mustache of the Week: NHL Playoff Edition, brought to you by our friends at McMurry's Mustache Wax: If it's good enough for your grandmother, it's good enough for you!

  For some of our more enlightened readers, as well as those coming to us from America's Hat (assuming they have the interwebs in Canada, I doubt it, considering it has nothing to do with maple syrup or Tim Horton's, someone check on that), you all know what time of the year it is.  No, not national poetry month (it is, but that's a different post all together).   The NHL Playoffs are in full swing hosers and hoserettes!!  For those of you not as in touch, hockey, America's 27th favorite sport, sandwiched between Beer-Hunter and Monkey/Herding Dog Rodeo, began it's road toward climax a few weeks ago, ending in the presentation of the Stanley Cup in a few weeks.  While the action on the ice has been breakneck to this point, the real focus of all you hockey fans out there has undoubtably been the players customary playoff beards.  In a show of unity and solidarity, all the players, minus Sidney Dive-sby (it turns out 12 year old girls have trouble growing beards), sport mountain-man Chet beards as long as their teams remain in the playoffs.  By the time the finals roll around, it looks more like the Hatfield's versus the McCoy's rather than a hockey game.  While the beard is a respected relative of the mustache, it certainly doesn't brandish the same pantload of rigid respect the more venerable mustache has associated with it.  This post salutes those who were willing enough to put the entire team on their back a carry them, with their deficient awesomeness, to the next level.

  Back in the glory days of upper-lip libido (1970's-1980's), the NHLer mustache was quite common, appearing predominantly in its mythical form, the mustache / hockey hair (mullet) combo.  Supposedly, if you catch an individual with a mustache and hockey hair, they're legally required to bring you to their pot of gold, but it's said that rather than gold, it's filled with McMurry's Mustache Wax.  This is all hypothetical of course, as you could never actually catch . . . nay, gaze upon one of these individuals without you head exploding from the sweetness.  This, folks, is the holy grail of follicle coordination, and only the most brash of men can sport it.  I believe the prerequisite was having killed 50 ninjas with your bare hands, that, or frightening 250 babies / small children / weak adults back into the safety of their mother's wombs, whichever came first (it was usually the ninjas, they're forced to test their skills against the manliest opponents available).  With this in mind, I submit to you, a who's who of the NHL nose neighbors.  

Disclaimer: The contributors of "Just Rub Some Sugar On It" are not responsible for any head exploding that may ensue from extended viewing of the photos below.  We will not compensate for carpet / furniture cleaning after your gray matter is splattered thusly.  You have been warned!!

With a last name like Goulet, what did you expect?

Before the days when the helmet was required.  Not for the safety of the players, but rather that of the viewers and their heads

Must . . . . caption . . . . intercranial pressure . . . . building . . . . SPLAT!!!

George Parros

(he's obviously just returned from the past after beating the crap out of Mohammad Ali,

Not Pictured in Shot: the rest of Ali's severed arm)

Ryan Hollweg receives "Knuckle Justice" for not allowing his stache to fully bloom

(find a picture of him now, he's learned his lesson)

  I leave you, until next time, with an English Proverb: "A man without a mustache is like a cup of tea without sugar."  By cup they mean keg, and by tea they mean blood of those intent on standing in your way, and by sugar they mean sugar . . . fuckin' English.

-The Commander

Commander Flex Plexico's Mustache of the Week (4/21): Inaugural Edition

Welcome to the inaugural edition of Commander Flex Plexico's Mustache of the Week, sponsored by the fine people at McMurry's Mustache Wax: You can't be furry without McMurry's!  

Each week, I'll be chronicling notable examples of the most manly, badass, and all around awesome facial accessory known to man: the mustache.  If you're reading this, I'm sure you already know how totally sweet mustaches are.  In some of the more fainthearted states in our country, men are required to carry proper documentation verifying their ability to wield such egregious upper lip homages to all that is man.  These posts will be your weekly source for some of the greatest examples of mustaches throughout the years, belittling your own puny attempts at facial hair immortality.  Look on, fair reader, and cower at the sight of . . . . . . . . . THE MUSTACHE OF THE WEEK!!  

Given that this is the inaugural edition of CFP's MotW, I'm going to go all out.  I'm talking about the OG of the nose neighbor: one Mr. Rollie Fingers.  You may know him as the lights-out, hall-of-fame closer who used to pitch for the A's in the 1970's and 80's, but his real claim to fame is his trademark handlebar mustache:

                                                Rollie Fingers: Raw Steel and Sex Appeal

To give hope to some of our less follicly gifted readers, Mr. Fingers didn't always sport such a manly 'stache:

 

Is that a hall-of-fame pitcher, or your Chem I TA??

Interestingly enough, Mr. Fingers grew his mustache on a bet, as all great mustaches have been grown from the beginning of time.  Also of particular note, Finger's hadn't posted an ERA below 3.3 before the year 1972, when it dropped precipitously to 2.5, followed by a 1.9 a year later!!  I'll give you one guess: what year do you think he grew his mustache??  That's right, 19-fuckin'-72!!!  This alone raises some questions.  Obviously, the power of his mustache aided in the drop in ERA.  Fingers chalked up 113 strike outs in 1972; conservative estimates say his mustache alone struck out 78 batters.  Who needs HGH ??  Grow a 'stache pansies, performance enhancing facial hair!!  However, I ask you, how could this man invest the time required for his career to flourish when he most obviously was also involved in the adult entertainment industry (hypothetically)??  And if he had no role in skin films, the question remains, have you ever seen a name / mustache combination more perfectly suited to porn in your life (besides, of course, Commander Flex Plexico)??

Rollie receives 10 Golden Moustachios out of 10.  We here at Commander Flex Plexico's Mustache of the Week salute you, Sir.

Until next week, I leave you with a quote from that Domino's commercial, "Give it time, Kevin.  It'll fill out."

-The Commander