Crazy Crap Item #143: The part where Eamon is spurned by lesbians

As many of you know, Eamon is, once again, participating in Mustaches for Kids. It's a fundraiser in which participants (called "growers") pledge to shave any existing facial hair and grow in a non-ironic, corner to corner mustache. Friends and well-wishers--desiring to witness such absurdity--pledge money to reward these mustachioed do-gooders. Proceeds go to a local charity; in Chicago, the designated charity is Off the Street Club.

As some may recall, Eamon participated last year, and swept the final prize for most money raised. It was a proud moment. (View his victory dance here.) Once again, he's growing for the kids, and once again, you can bask in the fuzzy glow of his hairy lip, as well as check his progress on the money raising.

As part of this grand endeavor, he participated this week in a fundraising event at T's Bar and Restaurant in Andersonville. In addition to donating 10% of all drink and food purchases from patrons mentioning the charity, T's provided, as is their want, shots of liquor to be sold, all proceeds pocketed by the fundraisers.

Well, as much as this is a lovely way to garner cash, Eamon felt it lacked zip. So, to perk things up, he contrived a special, mustache-themed shot glass experience. After cutting out many faux 'staches (colored in with magic marker by yours truly), he taped aforesaid mustaches to the front of many small plastic shot glasses. The idea being: if one correctly shotgunned the beverage in a handsfree fashion, one could be seen to wearing a mustache at the end of the shot. It's hard to envision, so I provided this useful photographic demonstration.

For $6, each patron received not only the shot (choice of lemon drop or raspberry kamikaze), but also a polaroid of the endeavor. And to add the sizzle to the steak, Eamon came up with an enticing name for this beverage/performance art: "The Mustache Ride."

The appealing name, combined with Eamon's winning salesmanship, meant shots were tossed by nearly all and sundry in the backroom of T's. With the exception, that is, of one group.

For those not familiar with T's, it caters to that joyful 10% of the population whose object of romantic desire does not square with notions of normative sexuality espoused by the far-right. As such, it was not surprising to encounter a cabal of lesbians perched on stools by the pool table. Try as he might, Eamon could not convert a single sale to these ladies. He could wheedle. He could plead. They were having no part of my hairy husband and his mustache rides.

Their loss, is all I can say.