Who Wants a Moustache Ride?

Appearance Matters. . . .

Ladies and gents, supporters of the World Champ across the globe, a
troubling notion has recently been brought to my attention whilst
traversing across Darkest Africa. Although my quest to recover our
dear Mr. Witsie continues, my savage porters have made note of the
motley appearance maintained by the WCSN Faithful. Thus, I feel it my
duty to straighten things out – a "Call to Order," if you will.

Thus, I present to you the OFFICIAL WCSN DRESS CODE!



Here at WCSN Central, we maintain a strict moral code. While the
World Champ has always been a champion for freedom and expression,
several of you have been getting rather lax in your personal
appearance. Remember, you all represent the World Champ in your
respective corners of the globe. I expect only the best, and find it
necessary to revisit a few recent violations…


Beast, while a fine and upcoming executive, as well as my
indefatigable Official WCSN Head of Security, has been seen sporting
this spectacular puffy vest around the streets of Tottingham. While it
would provide ample protection when executing a Kirk-style diving
roll, it also allows bystanders to grab onto a puffy protrusion.
Furthermore, he has taken to shaving his entire body, David Beckham
style, for the sake of fashion.





Froby, on the other hand, recently purchased a Swashbucklers vest
whilst frolicking in the Spanish Riviera. While it maintains high
quality Olde-World craftsmanship, we simply cannot get him to remove
it. Furthermore, he has been spotted carrying a broad-sword in
Paddington Station, although he claims it was for protecting his
leather hat. I have no problem with the pants.





To round things off, Scarlet has taken a rather reductive approach to
her personal appearance. Although we at WCSN Central are firm
supporters of velvet, there is simply no firm support in her vest. Her
vest-wearing has caused several electrical malfunctions, and resulted
in several riots throughout Eastern Africa and Central Asia.






As for MJ, as you can see, the main issue may lie beyond her lack of footwear…





Mr. T, while sporting an admirable facial moustache, unfortunately
wears moustaches on his feet as well. You can imagine the trouble it
causes on the days he decides to use moustache wax.






Finally, our fair First Nations has always been fond of bare feet.
While it is a bold stand against colonization and assimilation, one
can only take so much of the "bathroom stall graffiti" tattooed on her
feet. We already have Beast's phone number!

The Champ's Top Ten Reasons for Growing a Beard

Happy Thanksgiving

An American and a British journalist were discussing Thanksgiving on a British radio program. The American asked if Thanksgiving was celebrated in the United Kingdom.

"Yes," the British journalist replied, "but we celebrate it on the 6th of September."

"Why then?"

"That is when you chaps left."

While I Have Been Away. . . . .

Try JibJab Sendables® eCards today!

Africa and the Champ - A Match Made in Heaven

Loyal supporters and adoring fans,

As most of you have been closely following my progress in the hunt for Mr. Witsie in Darkest Africa, I thought I might share a few observations that I've picked up along the way. It seems that Africa is a perfect fit for a World Champ.

First, I've found that my astounding size and amazing girth puts me head and shoulders above the natives. Size always matters, and my barrel chest is a force to be reckoned (or wreckoned) with.


Speaking of size, everything in Africa is bigger (including me). For example, something as mundane as butter. In America, this nectar of the gods is sold in thin little sticks:



However, in Africa, one buys it by the Kg. Even the butter trays are built to suit a huge brick of slick heaven:


Consider also the force that unites us all ... aside from my beard: Electricity. In America, the appliance plugs are feeble and petite:


In Black Africa, they bring the thunder with their power cables (unless Eskom is rationing, or Mugabe is running the show, etc. etc.) Even my giant mitts, which are often likened to canned hams, with fingers like sausages (or appropriately named "bangers" to you Brits), can't wrap themselves around these huge plugs:


Even the outlets are vastly different. In America, they are tight and tiny, and are always pink. Very un-Champ:


Now see it's girthy African counterpart. It is a world unto itself, even manned with its own power switch, much like the Champ:


Oddly enough, there is one thing that is actually smaller in the White Man's Grave - bags of potato chips. The largest size available is equivalent to the American convenient store "Big Grab," which, of course, is a single serving.


In the States, you go right for the "Value Size" if you've got any grit at all. These bags also double as a poncho if inclement weather sneaks up on your snackfest:



Oddly enough, the US has another commodity that is noticeably bigger than the African version.

Reminiscences, again...

Throwback day!

If you liked this, or even this, you might like this...

However, it requires more than the usual Official WCSN 30-second Span of Attention.

Why Manscaping is a Bad Idea (a salute to Beast and Frobisher)

The World Champ tells an unknown gentleman at the bar that he
"doesn't like the cut of his jib." Thinking it was all in jest, the
stranger lets out a hearty laugh. Shortly after this photograph was
taken, Stephen Neal forced the gentleman to eat his beverage
container.



After some "manscaping" by Miss MJ, the World Champ decides to sing
karaoke with a couple of fun-loving chaps. Note the Champ is sipping
on a strawberry coolie instead of his usual 5W-30. Note also that the
Champ is singing back-up. Note once again that the featured song is
"Raindrops Keep Fallin' on my head."



After regaining his hair-composure, Stephen Neal decides to go
bowling. For people. Using a football helmet. Note the correct
four-fingered overhand grip, for extra spin.



Stephen Neal, sporting the "Telly Savalas," decides to forego a
previously scheduled death-match with France, and opts to stroll
through a park, looking for songbirds. He was heard humming the call
of the Speckled Hineypuffer.



A fully-bearded Champ relentlessly attacks a group of youths who
try to access the climbing wall at the local YMCA. The wall has yet to
be touched.



The Champ, with a clean and trim jawline, spots a box of abandoned
puppies in central New England. The sight brings a smile to his face,
and a glimmer to his eye. He decides to sit down, "Indian-style" (no
offence, Nations), and watch them pounce and play. He misses his
appointment to urinate on Australia.