More mustache means more votes

It never crossed my mind to run for president of the United States, but then a great thing happened to me over Spring Break – I grew a mustache.

From the perspective of a man with a mustache, I started seeing the world for what it really is, anti-‘stache. And I said to myself, “Baker.”

“Yes.”

“We can’t live in a world where the concerns of the mustached population are overlooked, their needs thrown to the side just because they’ve chosen to cover their upper-lip area with a thick, bristly coat of hair – one that will provide heat in the winter and can always act as a catchment for stray food particles that can later be consumed as a snack.”

None of these presidential hopefuls seem to give a damn about the mustache.

At a ripe, old 104, John McCain has outlived his facial hair.

My best guess is that Barack Obama is staying away from the Richard-Roundtree-as-John-Shaft mustache to try not to scare off the white vote – too much raw sexual energy there for the Midwest. But what Obama and his political strategists have overlooked is the fact that a bushy ‘stache would play well among blue collar voters, especially the NASCAR crowd, which still worships the hairy lip caterpillar of the late, great Dale Earnhardt.

Hilary Clinton, well, some say she’s got balls, so why not add a mustache to the ensemble? It would accent the pant suit quite well.

And, least Clinton forget, one of the most prominent woman in American political history, Eleanor Roosevelt, had a badass mustache. Personally, I think it was her ‘stache – not FDR’s New Deal, not World War II – that brought America out of the Great Depression.

Since we might be heading for another Great Depression by November, Hilary may need to duplicate the famous lady ‘stache to win the nomination and the general election, then – with the power of lady lip hair – bring our country out of certain economic doom. It’s a strategy most drunk, mentally unstable political strategists call, “Going all Eleanor on their asses.”

Mike Huckabee is out of the race, but if he was still in, I think he’d be more likely to go with a biblical beard instead of some handlebar ‘stache action in his quest to return America to it’s Old Testament roots.

As for me, I went with the whispy, ’70s porn mustache. The “trust me kids, I know your parents and they said it’s fine to get in the van” ‘stache.

And dammit, that’s exactly what our country needs.

So I’ve reached out to the only mustache I felt comfortable tickling the receiver of the red phone at 3 a.m., or 3 p.m., Tom Selleck. Thomas Magnum, P.I. The one and only Quigley down under. His dark crescent of lip wool would even out – and darken up – the reddish qualities of my 19th-century Irish bareknuckle boxer ‘stache. Everyone wants a balanced ticket, right?

Selleck and I could transverse the nation, speaking to construction workers on lunch break, to drunken bowlers on league nights at lanes around this great nation. We could stump in the fronts of smoky bar rooms – mustaches care little for Indoor Clean Air Acts – filled to the brim with roofers, sprint car mechanics and farmers wearing ‘staches filled with chaff.

The Mustache Party – our political affiliation – would speak eloquently about policy and platform to the mustached literati of urban coffee shops. And we wouldn’t like it, because they’d be going for a little too Frenchy of a ‘stache for our liking. Still, we’d need their support and at least we could go spread our message of the mustache to a wider ‘stache audience, because they’re still our brothers – even if they are the black sheep of our base.

We’d try to go shake babies and kiss hands – backwards, huh? Just flip it in your mind – but probably get shooed away by wary mothers who see the ‘stache as more of a threat than a powerful political tool and the symbol of the next great American revolution. Some people just lack vision.

Hell, we would have to reach out to our brothers in facial decoration, the bearded population. A few stops at metal concerts, motorcycle rallies and art history lectures – the beard, like the ‘stache, appeals to ruffians and educated folk, alike. They’re both very egalitarian.

I may even send Selleck to the circus crowd, where there are bound to be plenty of bearded ladies and mustached strong men with Eastern-Block accents. There’s a good photo op: Selleck getting bench pressed by some strongmen in tights and a mustache with a bearded lady in the foreground giving two thumbs up. People would eat that up.

After sweeping across the country, our message of facial hair equality and rights for those with hairy lip accessories inspiring every mustached compatriot we encountered, the Mustache Party would get the vote out with a swell of grassroots support from volunteers who would take our cause to their bosoms as well as the space between their nose and lips. Then, America would see the power of the mustache vote – a demographic long forgotten by clean-shaven politicians – and Selleck and I would take the reigns of this country.

I even have some of my cabinet picked out. Jason Lee from “My Name Is Earl” would be Secretary of State – he’s always talking about karma or whatever and that’d be good for Middle-East relations. Professional wrestling’s Sgt. Slaughter is the logical choice to be my War Lord, er, Secretary of Defense. Burt Reynolds, circa “Smokey and the Bandit,” would take the role of Secretary of Health and Human Services. That would free Burt up to spin donuts all day, because nobody know what the HHS secretary even does – must be easy, though, Mike Leavitt was able to do it.

@#$%. I forgot one important thing: Females despise the hairy lip scarf. They think just rubbing against it will give them a fleshing-eating bacteria or worse, a slight tickle – the later being an advantage, I would think.

Damn. There are more women then men, and although I’ve seen some chicks with burly ‘staches, I don’t think that percentage is high enough to overcome the overall mustached-women-to-regular-females deficit.

Well, I guess there are other things I could do with the mustache. With a top hat and bow tie, I could get a part in a silent movies. Maybe a stint on the professional darts circuit. Some black shoe polish, a few push-ups, a tan and I’d make a hell of a dangerous Latin pool boy/sophisticated, passionate lover.

And I guess that gets us back to the adult movie industry, huh?

-da.bake@aggiemail.usu.edu