The crustache has been given a raw deal over the years. That wisp of a thing, so small and seemingly insignificant, is the swastika of our generation; wear one in public and it’s curtains. Any brave soul that brings one into this cruel world is brow-beaten until his hand is forced, subsequently aborting his new love, far too soon into its young existence. The four blades of the Schick Quatro are nothing more than death merchants, no better than Saddam himself. These executions are viewed, generally, as a humane necessity, much like when a mangy dog gone mad with rabies is put down. But what about Timmy, the owner of that poor pup. Are we to disregard his feelings, granting ourselves the authority to take away everything he loves? Now, while everyone feels like they know what’s best for Timmy in the long run, we have to allow him to make his own decisions, or he’ll never be able to learn from his mistakes. If he’s willing to accept getting torn to bits by a crazed labrador, i.e., look like a just-released sex offender, then simply let him deal with the consequences. Perhaps he wants to walk through the mall scaring prepubescents at Wet Seal, you just never know. To him, his crustache may not be a mistake to learn from; it could be the confidence builder he always needed. Not convinced? Then let me present to you the messiah of the crustachio’d people:
Look at that glorious bastard; his comes off slighter than most other crustaches. To its defense, being blonde did not help the situation, but let’s be honest, he’s hardly Burt Reynolds. But could Stroker Ace sink a mid-court heave without hesitation, even with that gorgeous mane on his upper lip? Of course not. Larry Legend did not give a French Lick damn about the public’s view on his looks. He proudly displayed his lack of facial machismo on a daily basis, shucking and jiving fools out of their PF Flyers on the court in the process. Did Magic tell Larry to take that Easy Cheese looking thing off his mouth? No, he didn’t, because they were friends, and true friends respect each other’s wishes. You can hate the crustache until you’re six feet underground, but you will have wasted your life living with such hate. Larry Bird is the owner of the greatest argument against your case: he never shaved and still succeeded beyond anyone’s wildest imaginations. He was never arrested for a single sex crime; he had sexual relations with hundreds of non-disgusted ladies (supposedly); he was never ostracized from his community and forced into a leper colony; and, to his greatest triumph, he has a legion of followers, including Johnny Depp:
and last year’s third draft pick, Adam Morrison:
The crustached people are growing in numbers…and they are succeeding.
Which brings me to the entire point of this study: I have decided to stop caring, altogether. As someone who cannot grow a beard, at age 26, I can relate to Larry, Johnny, and Adam. Society tells us to shave every day, as to not look like an asshole, but I say “Nay!” to the naysayers, give them a taste of their own medicine. And, quite frankly, who have I been trying to impress anyhow. The non-crust look hasn’t worked so far, so why not try the creepster method? I haven’t shaved in a week, nor have I had my hair cut in three months. It is my goal to look like a dumpster diver by Christmas. And if someone buys me a Quatro for the holiday, they’re getting their throats slightly nicked in their sleep with their own gift. Despite the fact that I don’t have a crossover like Larry or Adam, and I don’t have the cheekbones of a Greek god like Johnny, I feel like I can achieve the same success they have been reveling in for years. Let’s share the pube-looking facial hair wealth, boys. It’s only fair.