If I Can’t Have a Mustache, Then No One Can

Everybody buy some stock in Gillette, because I have a new law to implement.

A few weeks ago, I tried to grow out my mustache to see if I’d look good with one. After a couple of weeks, the “mustache”, if you could even call it that, was not looking too hot, to say the least. The hair seemed to have reached its limit, in terms of length, and certain sections, curiously, refused to grow any hair at all. When I showed my friends my facial hair progress, the reactions were overwhelmingly negative. And thus, as quickly as it appeared, my mustache was gone. 

As the mustacheless weeks continued to roll by, though, it seemed that every person I came across was rocking a luscious mustache, á la Rollie Fingers, pictured below.

So, in order to prevent me from getting my feelings hurt, I am instituting a brand new law: no more mustaches. The rule goes into effect immediately and must be followed by all citizens of the world. Drains will be clogged, babies will cry when they don’t recognize their fathers, and Brooklyn hipsters will lose a major facet of their personality, but it’s all a small price to pay to make me feel a little bit better about myself and my imperfections. 

Defectors will be sent to the electric chair.