A browsing session through a Halloween store last night brought me to a display case that was like a pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. After years of searching and coming up empty, I’ve finally had the pleasure of seeing a plethora of real merkins, up close and personal. It also made me briefly consider changing my costume from Chynna Phillips to something involving the pubic wig.
It was impossible to contain my excitement, and when my eyes met with the bundles of hair, words stoutly poured from my mouth
“Look, they have merkins here! Awesome!”
The three people within ear shot tried to ignore me, though I noticed the confusion in their eyes. If only I had two minutes to explain, they’d be equally excited. It wasn’t to be, though, and the surrounding people cautiously moved to another section of the store.
The merkins were, logically, located next to the mustaches, though one could use the mustache shaped merkins that would make your junk look something like Groucho Marx if you flipped his head upside down and disregard the lazy eye.
Since this was a higher end costume shop, they have both human and Yak hair. I never bothered to ask a salesperson which was more expensive, though venturing a guess, I’d say the Yak. It’s easy to cut off a willing human’s hair. A Yak, being a wild animal, would most likely put up some kind of fight. Though human hair would look more realistic, once the difficulty of acquiring the hair is taken into consideration, Yak hair prices would increase due to hazard costs.
If I had to choose one, it would be human hair. Why, you ask? Whitney Houston said it best: “Yak is wack.”
Welcome to a new segment of Muldo.Net: Things I Did in High School. From time to time, I’ll highlight an event, activity, or story that happened during my salad days at Thomas Jefferson High School in the South Hills of Pittsburgh from 1997-2001. Today’s installment: Ridiculous Senior Photos.
It was September of 2000. The first season of “Survivor” had just taken the nation by storm, Al Gore and George W. Bush were fighting for the presidency, and the summer Olympics took place in Sydney, Australia.
A world away, I just turned 17 and was working part time at a local movie theater as I began my senior year. Of course, with senior year came a rite of passage which every human being must partake: Senior Pictures. I was never one to shy away from a camera, so I approached the day with excitement. It’s not very often that you get a professional photographer to perfectly capture you while you’re looking your best.
My mom hired a husband and wife team to capture my essence. I picked out several of my best outfits, or what my mom said were my nicest, and drove to their office at 3:00 p.m. that afternoon to begin my day as a model.
Based on conversations I had with classmates, I expected to be finished in 30 to 45 minutes and back home with a belly full of dinner in time to watch “Big Brother.” I was wrong. Five hours, four costume changes, and three locations later, we had used up most of the photographer’s memory stick and a good portion of my sanity.
The shoot began at their studio, where I took the typical suit-and-tie senior portrait. We then moved to an old railroad bridge for a more industral look, and finished that up with scenes near a quaint babbling brook, showing my love of nature.
The most ridiculous result of this was the picture to the right. They posed me next to a rusty support beam and directed me to longingly look into the lens while doing a Spider-Man style pose.
The end result? My mom spent a lot more money on senior photos than most parents, and because of the volume of pictures, felt obligated to purchase more. This led to what my family called the “Ryan Shrine,” a collection of about 8 photos, separately framed, but in a collage style that adorned the living room wall for 7 years. It was a running joke and was eventually moved into the spare bedroom that people rarely enter.
As for me, I was exhausted and bewildered by the amount of time taken for something not very important. Looking back, I realize it was all worth it. These photos represent memories to be both cherished and laughed at.
My blog has been active since March. In that time I’ve hit many hot topics that are searchable in google. My blog came up in web searches for the following words and phrases. They vary from the normal to the mundane to the bizzare. My comments in parenthesis:
Barenaked ladies thumbs up shirt
breast milking squirting youtube (Must’ve been thirsty)
buy red pleather jumpsuit (My old one has a tear)
daughter suck moms breast milk videos (Perhaps a mother looking for instructions?)
daughter sucking mom’s breast (Probably not)
does bill gates wear a wig?
funny skit about “swine flu parties”
greg evigan wives
herman’s sandwich (Don’t know what that is but it sounds delicious)
how do we call “neighbor” in french (voisin)
how old is stan savran
how to wear a merkin (Ask Greg Evigan’s wifes)
is she a derogatory word in french
merkin pubic wig
merkin wigs (Someone likes merkins even more than me)
mini burger machine
my strange dream (Consisting of mini burgers wearing merkins)
obsession with joan of arc martyrdom
pubic wig stores (50 locations near you)
suking mom (Don’t know what su-king is but it sounds gross. Poor Mom.)
tyra banks polo button down
what’s a merkin? (A pubic wig)
why do i need a merkin? (to put the finishing touches on what is otherwise a fulfilling and normal life)
youtube elder person sucking breast of mom (Barenaked Ladies thumbs up!)
This weekend, I had the pleasure of patronizing the annual “Knotts Scary Farm,” the Orange County Mecca of Halloween Entertainment. It’s the home of numerous haunted mazes, roller coasters that seem to go faster in the moonlit sky, and the stomping ground of a teenaged trollop who didn’t bring enough cash for a soda.
After a long evening of fun, I headed toward the exit, hand in hand with my girlfriend. Through the throngs of people, I heard a faint cry for help.
About 15 feet to my left, a girl who looked between 14 and 16 years of age was standing next to a food stand with her hands waiving at any and every person walking past.
“Can you spare dollars? I’m short on money for a soda,” she said, politely.
Unfortunately for her, I was out of hard cash and wasn’t about to buy her a $4 beverage with my debit card. I looked at her, smiled, and said sorry, but no.
Her extended hand soon turned into a fist and her middle finger pointed up in retaliation. The rage immediately built within me, and I retorted with the first thought that came to my head:
“Thanks for giving me the middle finger, you cunt.”
We kept walking and I was unable to see her reaction. One could guess it was apathy, as that was probably not the first time she’s been referred to as such.
To my surprise, my girlfriend did not chastise me for using the C-word. Partly because she was tired, but mostly, I think, because she agreed.
Upon arriving home I opened up a can of Coke Zero and dumped its contents into the sink as an act of defiance to this horrible human being. Hopefully, she went home thirsty. If it were up to me, she’d never again be able to enjoy a soda pop for the rest of her life, not even the generic brands.