This is like a "best of" photo of several product spokespeople. I'd say it's like a combination of Orville Redenbacher and Bill Cosby for Jell-O pudding pops. If I ever get a date following this post I will be absolutely shocked.
The good news about the most-embarrassing yearbook photo is that it's basically the last of the horrifying ones. My seventh grade picture starts to show hope for the future, so hang in there, sixth-grade Pat.
Sixth grade was an interesting year. All of the sixth-graders in my district were shipped off to an elementary school about 25 minutes away from my normal school. I had two main teachers, Mr. Bittner and Mr. Cashdollar.
Mr. Bittner was an older science-type guy with white hair and a fun sense of humor. Everyone swore that he had a glass eye, and I truly believe that he did. I don't remember a whole lot about his teaching style or what we did in his class, but he did have a massive ball of masking tape that he had collected during his teaching career. It was so big and heavy that he could barely lift it up on his own.
Mr. Cashdollar was my arch nemesis. He looked like Yosemite Sam and had the name of a James Bond villian. He was my teacher for English and Geography, two subjects in which he severely lacked any knowledge or skills. He used to make me crazy by pronouncing the names of foreign cities incorrectly or giving bullshit explanations when anyone asked why something was the way it was. One day Mr. Cashdollar made my HEAD EXPLODE because he kept calling the Rock of Gibraltar the Rock of "Gibaltra." SAY IT RIGHT—YOU ARE THE TEACHER. I corrected him and he didn't care. Seriously dude, I'm 12 and I know how to say it and I'm not even that smart.
Still makes me fume.