Nov 18, 2009

Michigan won the Big 10 Championship in 2003 and played USC in the Rose Bowl. This all went down during my sophomore year of college. One night after tossing back a few beers, I decided to wager a bet with one of my roommates, Mr. Cheeks.

Now before I continue, let me level set everyone here. I'm not a betting man. I don't like to gamble. I bought one big lotto ticket in my life. I've been to a few casinos, but normally I would get kicked out for being to drunk before I even had the chance to plop down next to the chain-smoking grandma at the nickel slots.

Okay, so I made a bet with A Da Cheeks. And this was the bet: If Michigan beats USC, then Cheeks has to rock out a Civil War mustache to the first day of class in the upcoming winter semester. If USC beat Michigan, then I would have to wear a Civil War mustache to class on the first day. After we shook hands and made the blood pact, we also agreed that from that day forward, we would grow out all of our facial hair to intensify the effect of the mustache.

A few weeks later, the Rose Bowl came a knockin'. USC 28. Michigan 14. Fuck my life.

When Christmas break was over and we returned to the dorms, I was mistaken for a werewolf due to the fact that I hadnt shaved in over a month, and something in my DNA causes me to grow hair out of every molecule in my face. So the night before our first day of class, I gassed up the chainsaw and went to work on my face. Basically, I shaved everything from the corner of the lips of my mouth and down off, but left the rest. It was a monstrosity to say the least, and I was overjoyed to have to go to my first day of class looking like some sort of freakish horsebeast.

I get to the classroom and find that there are no desks in the room. Instead, there was a huge circle of chairs like we were about to play musical chairs or something. "Fucking great, just my luck. No hiding in the back. Oh no...everyone gets to look at my idiot facial disaster." To top it off, the teacher insisted on taking a headshot of each student so that he could "match a name with a face." So this bastard busts out his $10,000 zoom lens camera and lines everyone up for a photoshoot. Words can't describe the thoughts running through my head as he zoomed in on my face and snapped the picture.

Two days later, I showed up to this class again. The first thing the prof did was go through a powerpoint slideshow of all the pictures he had taken the class before. And low and behold, there was Col. Kyle Terry, Civil War-football bet losing monster. To hell with this bullshit. There was no way I was putting up with this non-sense. After that class was over, I went up to the teacher and told him I was dropping the class for "personal reasons." And that's exactly what I did. Curse you Civil War mustache, curses!