Plague Of The Evil Mustachio Men
I’ve always been suspicious of mustaches. They sneak onto faces unannounced and try to act inconspicuous, but even in their infancy they are impossible to ignore. The man who can sport one while his cheeks and chin remain clean-shaven should immediately be interrogated to determine if he has broken through the space/time continuum without a valid permit. He is more suited to the 1970s era of tight slacks and polyester shirts open to the navel than to the 2000-teens, where gents pair high-end suits with white sneakers and stubble uniformly distributed across the face. So what is this foreigner doing invading our present?
I’ve come to believe that he’s been sent by aliens to irritate us, and by that I don’t mean the illegal sort on whom Donald Trump is trying to pin all of our nation’s ills. If he were controlled by illegals, you’d more likely see him scraping the paint off our houses and picking our fruit while looking suspiciously like Freddie Mercury. The aliens who’ve sent him are the kind who live in deep space and have the ability to control the minds of 30 and 40-something men, telling them they can reinvent their look if they simply avoid shaving the area just below their noses. My Dad was controlled by one of these evil spacemen while he was recovering from one of his several “mild” heart attacks, and the caterpillar that appeared on his face failed to capture the imagination of us kids; it was gone after a month. Meanwhile, the space aliens had a good chuckle. Years later, Jason Giambi, the steroid-gulping Yankee slugger, tried on an extremely furry “stash” of his own. Unfortunately, he looked like he oiled it up with Crisco each morning. My sister called it “gross,” and she was a Yankee fan.
Now we have Brock Holt, the Red Sox player whose main job is to be the primary backup at every position on the field. He looks no less silly than my Dad and Jason Giambi, but on the other hand, he is not to blame. The mind of the “Brock Star” will one day be released from the grip of wicked beings from far off galaxies, and out will come the razor. To my mind, it can’t happen soon enough.