Make Your Natural Tendencies Pay

Phase One: Complete

Greg Oden, as you may have heard, will be sitting this one out for the remainder of the 2007-8 season. Which, I guess, makes it a good thing there's only eighty-two games left. But is there more to it than meets the eye?

I've got a sneaking suspicion this is all part of an elaborate plan set in motion by Mr. Oden to abandon his professional sports career and embrace the life he's always wanted: periodontics.

The greatest cinematic dentist in history, after the jump.


Greg Oden's been expressing his deep-seeded desire to rinse and repeat since he's been in the public eye. This whole microfracture surgery business is the perfect cover. Whose gonna question it when he hobbles back at "50%" and never achieves the potential we all forced upon him? Durant's gonna have the more illustrious career anyway, why not embrace the life you love when you're young, it would appear all it takes its a pink unitard thingie?

If Oden wants to fade into obscurity, I'll allow it. We got so many future All-Stars out of this draft, we sent one of the the Bucks. What's it to us if we lose one of 'em? Besides, this gives me the chance to say asinine things like "Oden's the new Darko."

And now, cinema's finest dentist:

Click For More...

Trick Question

Who do you think would win in a fight: Dane Cook or The Sports Vaganus?



The answer, after the jump:

the rare North American Sports Vaganus

The Answer: Iraq



(We here at Limpet feel that if once-funny writers, and funny-the-first-time comics can unleash their drivel upon us, we can do so right back to them, sans explanation. That's why Iraq is the answer. Bitches.)

Click For More...

Simply the Best: King of the Hill

I'm proud to introduce the newest segment to The Incredible Mr. Limpet: Simply the Best

Simply the Best is where we at Mr. Limpet rank things. Bask in our hilarity and/or witticisms.

Today's Topic: Characters from "King of the Hill"

You know what I was doing ten years ago? I was watching "Real Sex 5" on HBO and Amistad. Also, on Sunday nights, I would occassionally watch that show that came on before the Simpsons. The one made by the guy who did Beavis & Butthead.

Gotta be honest with you, before this summer, you could count the number of "King of the Hill" episodes I'd watched on your fingers. Then, during the first week of my my foray into hedonism I caught a 10th Year Anniversary marathon of "King of the Hill" on FX. That afternoon I learned what I'd been missing. Since then, I've cultivated quite an extensive amount of data on the characters of "King of the Hill".

After the jump, you'll find the coolest/most debatable list seen yet on this site.

Or, you won't read this because you don't care about a cartoon show you've never seen.


From least Wikid Awsum to most Wikid Awsum:

5. Peggy Hill - If you were to make a list of the most hate-inspiring cartoon characters of all-time, Peggy Hill, would easily top said list. Let me be clear: I do not hate Peggy Hill, she's just the embodiment of everything I hate about the Fly Over states. The reason she makes the list is because I've never actively despised a cartoon character's sense of self-esteem, and that takes guts. I'd admire the dander in me she rises (and that's just fun grammar.)The woman was afraid to take an IQ test because she was afraid it would result in a score lower than what she'd assumed it to be.

4. Bobby Hill - When I found out the voice of Bobby was a chick I fairly crapped myself. This woman's got amazing talent, and Bobby's got some of the bestest lines ever written. I can't think of a better Poster Boy for all the urban longing white kids feel. Bobby Hill is good for one genuine, belly laugh an episode.

3. Boomhauer - He got a lot of the press when the show debut because he most resembled the characters from "Beavis & Butthead" but he's so much more. I don't think I could name another character whose been given as much depth without uttering a single, understandable syllable. Unless, of course, you count Mumbles.

2. William Fontaine de la Tour "Bill" Dauterive - Hats will tell you he's the best, and I gotta admit, it's neck-and-neck. Bill's the saddest cartoon character ever, even sadder than Droopy. Bill's one-offs are the stuff dreams are made of. He's pathetic, he's worthless, he's the best damn barber our Armed Forces have ever produced.

1. Dale Gribble - That's right, the King doesn't even crack the Top Five. One might ask one's self: What was the deciding factor in making Dale somewhat better/more wikid awsum than Bill? Let me give you a glimpse into the sick, twisted mind of Dale:

A) he has owned Show Turtles for three years, but never put 'em in a show.

2) He goes by the name "Rusty Shackleford" and his Social Security number is 555-55-

C) For his last meal on Death Row, Dale wants "the world's rarest truffle, then, while they were searching for it, I'd tunnel my way out of prison. Although, I would miss out on eating the world's rarest truffle. Quite the quandry." That's fucking genius.

"What kind of lefty hootenanny is this?"

There it is, the Top Five Characters on "King of the Hill." I apologize but during the summer, it's been the show I DVR urrday. Every episode ends in either a heartfelt or hilarious way, and I feel it's underappreciated.

Click For More...

Masterful

In last week's episode of AMC's first original series "Mad Men" a female character wondered aloud why she felt comforted by a male character. He responded that it was because of his deep voice. I've always had an affinity towards etymology and the psychology of language. This got me thinking: who has had the most effect on me, personally, using solely their voice?

If you want to take the easy way out you can go the James Earl Jones route. Sure, my eyes get quite misty every time I hear the baseball speech from "Field of Dreams", but I'm looking for something deeper, something more viceral. Someone along the lines of Thomas Hayden Church is more fascinating to me because his voice, like, say Stanley Tucci's, is subtly comforting. Both men sound like Dads, and really, who could not buy a product your Dad endorses?

Wrap yourself in the warmth and safety of Limpet's voice, after the jump.


Commercials are funny: we're supposed to be persuaded to do what they tell us to, based (usually) on an image of the product and the voice of someone convincing you to buy the product. The ad agencies of today know how to get the most mileage out of this better than any generation before us.

When a company and a voice come together in pure, total harmony, it's something to be admired. In this age of "here today, gone tomorrow" where blogs, celebrities and even news are more fickle than one can feasibly wrap their heads around, it's nice to see a company stick to their guns.

One such company is MasterCard. Did you know that for the past ten years you've been listening to somewhat-notable actor Billy Crudup? He's appeared in only one commercial, which, apparently does not exist on the internet. You probably remember it: two folks scrounging around a gas station late at night and the attendant tries to guess why their there. Yep, that's Billy, and he's been hawking MC for going nigh on ten years now.

I just wanted to take a moment to admire consistency in an ever-changing world. There's so little stability today that I take comfort in it where and when I can, and for the past ten years, Billy Crudup has made me think, "you know what, I should get a MasterCard."

Of course, I'm a Visa man. Always have been, always will be.

So while I admire Billy, and his decade-long attempt to increase the amount of debt I'm in, his efforts have been for naught.

You, sir, are priceless.

Click For More...

Tainting Purity

From the This Can't Possibly End Well files comes: Nacho Friendly Summer Travelling XXXtravaganza!

First up: Costa Rica. The land of Pura Vida, or "purified living", an institution I plan on crumbling.

In a scant few hours I'll be boarding a Lasca airlines flight, bound for Clarita's Beach Hotel, Sports Bar & Grille. I've never travelled internationally alone before, so this is going to be a grand experiment in social hilarity. I've been boning up on the culture and the main location I'm headed, a beach on the Pacific side of things called Jaco.

After the jump, you can see the contestants in the Miss Clarita's contest, and see some quotes describing the place I'm headed.

the competition is fierce.

Here's what the internet has to say about Jaco:

"Fellas, a word of advice if I may. If you go out in Jaco, dress comfortably, and treat the world as if it were your urinal. And I mean sandals, comfortable shorts, and t-shirts/wifebeaters, whatever. If you get all dressed up, like nice jeans, dress shirt, dress shoes-all you are going to do is sweat your jacobs off, and you aren't going to impress the ladies anyhow. What they really want is your money, and you aren't getting any unless you bring some. They really don't give a damn what you look like. I saw Penthouse & Maxim magazine-looking chicks walking out of the Beatle Bar (and the Blue Marlin and just about any other bar) with guys that could fit right in with any bowling team you've ever seen."

I'm not saying anything, but I won a free t-shirt from Jewel City Bowling in Glendale due to my prowess on the lanes.

Beard? Check. No undies? Check. No itinerary? Check. Situation that sounds precariously close to wanton disaster? Check.

Lets roll.



Nacho Friendly

PS - If I never come back, Hats can have my card collection.

Click For More...

A Desperate Plea to Brian Colangelo.

If you're like me, you only get your news from the print media. I disdain the frivolty with which facts are dealt with in the television, radio, and internet media. The one indulgence I allow myself is the cinema. I take in a talkie every now and then, under one condition: it must be a documentary.

I also enjoy basketball.

You'll understand if it's taken me a few days to comment on a cartoon I found in my local paper the other day. Apparently there's a planet just like Earth out there, and me, ah think there's sumptn fishy goin' on. I don't like it. Not one bit.

But I got a plan...

Lissen up, Brian Colangelo, 'cause this next bit's for you. We got a problem on our hands hurr, and ah think you're the only one who can help. I seen what you done with Phinnix, then Torrani, and I think you know where I'm headed here...

Our toon team is fucked.

Have you heard about this planet, Hoss? They say it's jus' like Earth, but they never mention that, even if it's an icy planet, it's still got 1.5 times the gravity. This is terrible news, Bry. Just terrible. I've seen the end game; I know the score.

I mighta mentioned I go to the documentaries often. Brian, do you fully understand what will happen is if these guys come to our homecourt? They'll make Dwight Howard look like George Zidek. They'll be leaping all over Bugs, Daffy, and Bill Murray.

Help us Brian Colangelo, yer our only hope. (Full disclosure: that's from another documentary.)

I demand Porky run suicides

Click For More...

Honestly, Why Did I Even Make A Sex Tape With You?

Yes, I'll grant you, it was a some pretty good sex. You're ability to frame a shot during the piledriver is exceedingly impressive. You break the fourth wall and talk dirty to the camera only when it's appropriate and sexy, which is also admirable. But Jesus Molly, if that's how you sing, you'll never get the chance to be an also-ran, which begs the question: Why did I even make a sex tape with you?

Don't misunderstand me, your rendition of Gadjits's "Party Girl" was...interesting. I never quite appreciated the subleties of lyrics such as:

Hey boys look at my butt
no I'm not a slut but I'll fuck you in the bathroom
Just gratify my image

but I do now, and I thank you for that. I will say, however, that if that kind of singing, with the off-tempo call-backs and off-key choruses, is the best you got, then we've got problems.

Don't get me wrong, everybody likes a party girl, but I'm looking for something deeper, Molly. Something more meaningful. Call me old fashioned, but if I'm gonna make a sex tape with a lady, it better damn well reach the masses when said lady fails at reality tv.

Why don't you grab yourself some tea and take a seat, we need to hammer a few things out.

You're no one unless you're famous, Molly. Everybody knows that, everyone accepts it. Except you, apparently. If you think you can pull that karaoke shit with Randy and Paula, you're sorely mistaken. Granted, you kinda have to suck enough to be voted off, or whatever, but you at least have to make it past those episodes where they just show you the mental defects who think they can slide one past those crafty judges.

What I'm trying to say is that unless you hunker down and really put some effort into your singing, no one's gonna see how nasty you are in bed. It's science. The American public require a passing recognition with their amateur porn stars, and that's what reality tv is.

I'm sorry it's come to this, Molly, but until you get some vocal lessons or watch Glitter a few more times, I can't, in good conscience spadazzle you any more.

Click For More...

Call Me Ahab

In Moby Dick Captain Ahab is on a quest to find his White Whale. On Saturday night, I attempted to harpoon my own and enter the esteemed 9-9-9 Club.

In what would become one of the greatest training blunders in all of sports, I did not make the club, but that doesn't mean I'm throwing in the towel. I am the Brett Farve of meaningless competitive eating, and one day, I will rise like the Phoenix.

Help us gut Brian Giles like a stuck pig, after the jump.

I feel a little like Santiago Canizares today. Our sexiness got the best of us.

my weakness is booze, his was aftershave

In 2002, Santiago Canizares was on top of the world. He played soccer for Valencia and was set to be Spain's goalie for the World Cup. Then, on a fateful night when he was just trying to sexify himself, he dropped his bottle of aftershave and sliced tendons in his toes. Tough break, right? Santiago remained upbeat, saying, "I still believe that the best moments of my career are yet to come and, health permitting, I will be aiming to be successful in the next World Cup."

That didn't work out so well. Since then he's "fallen down the pecking order at international level," and been replaced by Íker Casillas, a Spainard whose got a hell of a trivia section on his Wiki page.

The reason I bring up obscure Spanish goalies and the tendons they slice is because I, too, fell victim to my own sexiness. Last week I suffered through one of the world's worst sore throats. It hindered my gorging/training, but I still felt confident in my abilities. Being sick doesn't make one feel sexy, so the first night I felt well enough to go out, Friday night, I attended a "White Trash Party" replete in my best Southern regalia. I was in sexy mode. It had been a full week since I'd tasted the hooch and I broke bad. I consumed alcohol at an alarming rate. I kicked ass at Beer Pong, thanks to my much-more-talented teammate, MoJenk.

Cups of Glory

One thing led to another and I ended up drinking all night. And by all night, I mean I didn't stop drinking until noon Saturday. I drank and drank until I thought it best for me not to drink anymore. Then I realized it was time to go to the stadium and join my brethren. Lets just say I wasn't thinking clearly.

As we entered the All You Can Eat Pavilion I explained to my cohorts the condition my condition was in, and their words of support and encouragement led me to believe that, yes, I could go through with this, and what a feat it would be. I sauntered up to the beer vendor, I moseyed to the concession stand, I procured my dogs, we found our seats, and I was off.

I'd took down the first two dogs, lickety-split. I gulped the booze. It was the top of the second inning and I was already ahead of the count.

My stomach proceeded to inform me that that was all the competitive eating I'd be doing that day. My sleep-deprived, poisoned body gave out. As jeers and cheers abounded, as Baby Ruth's soared to the heavens, and as the Padres spanked the Dodgers, my body scream "NO MAS" and shamefully, woefully, I plunkered down for inning upon inning of scorn and embarassment.

But I'm not licked yet. I'm not going gently into that good night. I will not sit idly by while my White Whale swims free. One day, I will enter the 9-9-9 Club, and when I do, you beauiful, smexy readers will be the first to know.

God calls his Baby Ruths back to heaven

Click For More...

Colin Cowherd F*cks Horses

By now, we've all heard about ShrutebagGate, and we've all had our jollies. Namecalling is enjoyable, and pointing out The World Wide Leader's woeful mishandling of the situation is valid beyond all repute, but that's not what this post is about.

This post is about how my mind's logic led me to the conclusion that Shrutebag is just like fucking horses.

Lemme explain, after the jump.

Funny story, if you Google image search his name, on the first page is this:



Which is ironic, because of the whole horse fucking thing. See when I first heard that the whole thing I was just as disgusted as the next guy. To use the public airwaves in such a manner was deplorable and immature. I was heartened when the ESPN Ombudswoman agreed with me. Then I took a closer look at what she was really saying. What she was saying was that Shrutebag didn't break any rules because ESPN "had not formulated a policy about such attacks on Internet sites until now because [they] had never imagined the possibility of them."

A lightbulb went off, I knew I'd heard this somewhere.

Naturally, my mind immediately went to beasitality. More specifically, the film "Zoo" about a guy who was killed when he let a horse fuck him and it ruptured his colon and he died from it. The most interesting part about that gruesome tale was that, at the time, the state of Washington didn't have any law forbidding the sexual congress. Totally legit lovin.

Since then, things have changed. You see what Washington state did there? The same thing ESPN did: they both put policies into place forbidding a certain crime after crimes were already committed. Really, the only difference I see is that, as of this publishing, Shrutebag's colon's still in tact.

And now, for the nightmare fuel:

Click For More...

Mustache Royal Rumble

The Final Four's been set and it looks like 10lb's tea leaves were far more accurate in predicting those mustaches that would excel, correctly choosing 3 of the 4 Finalists. I bow with reverence, humbly. (Honestly, should I even feel bad? I mean the guy's name is 10lb Mustache, it's not like I had much of a chance.)

There is one last round, however, and it's a no-holds-barred Royal Rumble style Death Match.

Catch up on our short predictions for who will pull this thing out, metaphorically speaking, after the jump.

Nacho: I heard a radio commercial for this contest on my way in to work today, and that commercial played sound bites from each of the Finalists. Jimmy Oritz, or Oddjob as we've taken to calling him, said that his mustache was "famous" and that kids and adults wanted to "touch it" but if you look at Jimmy's profile pictures, it becomes painfully obvious that he's a flasher, and is in this thing just to be touched. Jim Brees is an idiot and says his mustache would "look good behind the wheel of a new Chevy Silverado." You know what else would? My sack. I'm just sayin'; anything looks good behind the wheel of a new Chevy Silverado.

Now the tough part: "Scrappy" Maggie Dempsey's makes up half of the Finalists that use their brain and actually have an angle. She points out that, as a woman, if she saw any of the other 'staches she'd "run away from them." I think this is a brilliant move, because it'll force all the ladies out there to question what they find attractive, and it'll make the dudes wonder if they're gay. (You voted for Ortiz because you secretly want him to give you an odd job, didn't you?) Bravo Maggie, you are the CJ Craig of deflecting attention in Mustache Madness. Lastly is Lance Kirianoff, who told us that his mustache "soars out like an eagle. In essence, it's a symbol for the American way." In these troublesome times fraught with peril and legitimate questioning of our nation's leaders, I applaud Lance for concentrating on the positive side of things, for focusing on all that is good in America. I say it's a toss up between Lance and Scraps, with Scraps pulling ahead in the final hours, and Lance, not unlike Bruce Willis, perishing on the asteroid.

10lb Moustache: Wow. I can't believe we made it this far. I'd love to see all of these moustaches perform a true royal rumble along with the ultimate moustache Hulk Hogan, but mostly I'd just like him to body slam that dumbass Jim Brees.

As far as predictions go, I think an underestimation of Lance or Maggie at this point would be a poor move on any serious contender. Brees is right out. I mean look at him. His picture is in black and white! He shouldn't even be this far.

I think your heavy weight contender is Ortiz, mostly because he probably took his laptop to a family picnic this last weekend and forced everyone to vote for him and if they refused he probably chopped off their head with his hat. Maggie, however, is our dark horse and is a force, I think it's safe to say, no one saw coming.

Click For More...

Snarled & Jammed: The Three Worst Infrastructures In America

With the arrival of the NCAA Tournament's Final Four, Atlanta's gonna be busier than an indentured servant in high cotton. Folks from the four corners of the country will amass in the home of Cartoon Network and Waffle House to watch man-children duke it out for the title of National Champion.

I've done a few tours in The Jewel of the South and I thought I'd share some thoughts about how it, and other cities, decided that a decent infrastructure isn't as important as a professional sports team.

So fill out your survey, and join us after the jump for Nacho Friendly's Three Worst Infrastructures In America.


My god, you've really got nothing to do, don't you? Jesus, it's a post about bad traffic. It's not even clever. No big revelations here. Lemme save you a lot of time:

#3 - Los Angeles (Don't be so insulted; it's bad, but there's endless lunacy to marvel at whilst stuck in it, so it's not that bad.)

#2 - Atlanta (There is no time of the day that traffic doesn't suck in Atlanta. God help you if you try and get anywhere downtown after 3pm.)

#1 - Houston (Ever been there? This guy has. He fucking designed the inner loop. Do not attempt to drive through Houston unless you are in some sort of psychedelic state where logic doesn't exist. And remember, do whatever the coyote says.)

There we go. Couple witticisms, a few deep links. Goonies reference. Yep, it's a Limpet Post.

Don't forget to vote for "Scrappy" Maggie Dempsey in Mustache Madness's Final Four. There's no more match-ups, it's a free for all. 10lb & myself will have details coming forthwith.

Click For More...

Moustache Madness is here!

The time is 11:09, I'm still vomiting green, & Jock Jams Vol. II is on the stereo...it can mean only one thing: It's Mustache Madness time again!

That's right, those lovely fellas over at Jack FM have started up their yearly March Moustache tournament. And your two guides to everything from handlebars to flava savas, Nacho Friendly and 10lb. Moustache, have the guide to help you navigate your own way victory in your office.

Follow us after the jump to beat that fat bitch Nancy in accounting...

(Note: Click on the picture to get a full view of what the bracket has to offer!)

Sweet Sixteen Matchups:

In the creatively-illiterate "FLAVA SAVA" division:

Nacho: We've got Steve Morales (below, left) going up against Dennis Marsh (below, right). I gotta give this one to Marsh. Morales went for the heartstrings; he claims he grew his 'stache because he saw a photo of his great-grandpa, and "thought it would be cool." C'mon, Steve everyone's great-grandfather had that 'stache. It was the Selleck of the Gilded Age. Dennis Marsh upset the top seed, and he states that he grew his mustache long just to piss off his boss. Besides, Dennis's picture offers a lot more opportunities for lewd captions. Go ahead. I'm sure you can think of a few in the comments section.











Moustache: Marsh did beat out the Reynolds look alike, but though Marsh seems like a fun loving firefighter, I wouldn't underestimate Morales' stache. It had four confirmed kills in Vietnam as an assassin. I mean, why else would anyone be living in Thousand Oaks?

(Ed note: We sincerely apologize to our readers in Thousand Oaks, Moustache was hurt a long time ago by a tainted woman who lived there. The rest of us at Limpet do not feel the same way he does even though she was a pretty big whore)


Nacho: Next we've got Ben de los Reyes (below, left) taking on Jimmy Ortiz (below, right). Ben's comments about his 'stache cover his obvious duel heritage. He describes his mustache in a way I'd like to, were I don one. Ben's the underdog at the 11-seed, but Jimmy's just not giving me any reason to vote for him. Other than being way too personal about his hygeine. I'm going with King Ben.










Moustache: King Ben?!?! Don't get ahead of yourself here Nacho. Jimmy Ortiz would go into a blind rage killing Ben in an instance with his hat. Yes, that was an Odd-Job reference and, no, you can't be him on Goldeneye next time because that little shit was way too hard to see. Look, his last name is Ortiz, he's wearing a suit, he didn't have his girlfriend leave a comment for him on the page. Hands down. Ortiz.

Nacho: I've got Marsh to advance to the Final Four, sending the Monopoly Man into a murderous rampage.

Moustache: I'm calling a fight to the death between Ortiz and Morales. All the families are getting involved. There will be blood before we get to the final four.

In the why-isn't-this-really-offensive "WOMB BROOM" division:

Nacho: Hide the children, it's 1-seeded Paul "Dirty" Sanchez (below, left) going up against 5-seeded Rod "No Nickname Needed" Smallwood (below, right). Dirty's a top seed for a reason: he's got a wikid 'stache, and its fate is inherently tied to his daughters. It can't be easy to be a teenager, with no chance of your dad shaving before you graduate. As for Rod Smallwood, well, he's a liar. No, not about his name; about the founding fathers. I call bullshit. No founding father wore that ridiculous thing. Dirty wins.












Moustache: Oh, please. Rod Smallwood is your man. Paul Sanchez looks like his beard threw up into something that vaguely resembled a moustache. If I wanted to see half-assed moustaches I'd go to Thousand Oaks and visit my ex.

(Ed Note: Refer to above statement concerning Limpet and Thousand Oaks, but really, she was a huge slut.)

Nacho: Rounding out the division are Lance Kirianoff (below, left) & Tom Kamuda (below, right). This one is really a shame for Tom. Normally, he'd be a solid bet, but this time around the fates led to a Upturny-thing vs. Upturny-thing, and if you'll notice, Lance makes specific mention that his 'stache has learned to turn itself out, like Dirk Diggler in a pickup. Tommy is forced to hold his up with his hands, due to what I can only assume is a lack of wax. Also, Lance doesn't look like he's about to sodomize the next thing that moves in his photo. Lance advances.











Moustache: I'm going to have to agree with you here on this one, Nacho. Kirianoff is a shoo in. Kamuda has to hold his out to show that it's not just part of his beard. Kirianoff doesn't even need wax to get his in a prime shape. Kamuda must have faced some severely sad contenders to get this far.

Nacho: I'm taking 3-seeded Kirianoff to the Final Four. Dirty had a good run, but it's not in the cards.

Moustache: Kirianoff is going to the final four. I've said my peace about the other two.

In the bi-curiously-lingual "EL BIGOTES" division:

Nacho: A GIRL?! Here we've got 1-seeded Mark Fields (below, left) going up against "Scrappy" Maggie Dempsey (below, right), who has decidedly less Y-chromosones than the rest of the Sweet Sixteen. I'm taking the Scraps. I don't see what's special about Fields's 'stache; seems to have gotten a higher seed than he deserved, like Wisconsin. Scraps points out that she can put her mustache on babies, which can only turn out well. Dempsey takes it.










Moustache: Scraps has got it. She's got heart, tattoos and boobies.

Nacho: In the Cinderella match-up we've got 7-seeded Chirs Farren (below, left)taking on 14-seed Hal "The Colonel" Gant (below, right). I wanted to give this one to Farren because his mustache reminds me of a branding, but in the end, I had to go with Hal's anti-war message. His misguided superiors tried to restrict his mustache's freedom, so he did the only American thing there was to do: he found a loophole. Bravo, The Colonel, bravo.











Moustache: At this point I don't think it matters which of these two wins because they will lose to scraps in the Elite eight anyway. "Crisco" terrifies me, but Gant looks like he's going to try and sell me something I don't really need. I guess I'd rather be tricked into getting a Flowbee than be scared and I could ensure a superior doo for my next trip to Thousand Oaks.

(Ed Note: Once again, we are not in anyway affiliated with Moustache's hatred of Thousand Oaks, but what kind of a bitch breaks up with you over IM? Seriously, get some class.)

Nacho: While I wanna take The Colonel to the championship, I'm going out on a limb and I'm gonna send Scraps to the Big Game.

Moustache: Scraps is going to the four. No doubt about it.

The "Bad News Bears of Moustache Madness" are the Ticklers

Nacho: The first match up pits Rene Diamante (below, left) against Don Cooper (below, right). While Coop's 'stache stoutly refuses to obey the laws of gravity, I'm going with Diamante, who may or may not be a time traveler from "Deadwood". You grow up with a girl's name, you learn early that you've gotta be tough and nothing says tough like Rene's 'stache.












Moustache: This is a hard one to call, but I think I'm going to have to go with Cooper's no bullshit attitude. No stories of glory or family. Just 'stache. And he doesn't give a shit that his camera still shows the date.

Nacho: In the final contest there's Jim "Bushy" Bees (below, left) and Jeff " The Drifter" Hiers (below, right). Both are men of few words, they let their 'staches do their talking. Considering both started at double-digits seeds, I consider this a toss up. I'm going with The Drifter, because he made me remember how much I enjoyed watching Forrest Gump run cross country.











Moustache: I could care less about these two guys. these moustaches and pictures suck immensely. Bees is wearing a Santa hat so why not.

Nacho: Advancing to the Final Four, I'm taking Rene due his 'stache versatility in pirate, swashbuckling, and rum running situations.

Moustache: I'm only hoping that Don Cooper takes his no bullshit attitude all the way to the top.

FINAL FOUR

Nacho: March/Kirianoff. Scrappy/Rene.

Moustache: Ortiz/Kirianoff and Scrappy/Cooper.

Make sure to come back to check out who's going to go all the way on April 2nd.

Click For More...