When Bad Company announced through song that they, as a collective, were “ready for love,” the about-to-be-ravished were left to wonder: “What does a man who’s ready for love look like?” The answer, it turns out, is this:
Word on the streets of America and Hollywood is that Mr. Berkman’s tickler is faux. It matters not. The Ray-Ban Aviators are real, and the zests and vitalities behind the mustache are real. This reinforces an age-old dictum for us: one need not have a damn mustache in order to have a damn mustache.
A mustache is, ipso facto, hair astride American lips, but it is also knowing which responding officer to punch first. It is having sex in a hallway. It is using a coupon to buy a motorcycle. It is stashing pot in a gun.
Lance Berkman’s mustache is not real because it is too real.
(Image courtesy of my soon-to-be primary employer)
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