Colt McCoy Shaves Mustache, Crushes Hopes of Longhorn Fans

Our weekly dispatch from the nation's foremost mustache expert.

The penalty for shaving one's mustache over the span of history has been wickedly unflinching. The ancient Babylonians would stone men. The Mongolians would castrate offenders. Alabama state residents have been forced to turn over remaining teeth. Now that one young man named after a horse has done it, we feel the penalty will involve forfeiting the ability to secure a Heisman Trophy and BCS Championship.

This week the American Mustache Institute asks that you mourn the late lower nose accoutrement of University of Texas quarterback Colt McCoy. Furthermore, we can only hope you give his late 'stache more reverence than its wearer, who so crassly told reporters this before the fateful incident: "Every time I look in the mirror I go, 'Wow, gross.' It's coming off tonight. You get the last look."

Click here to learn more about this despicable act of musta-cide, and the consequences sure to play out over the 2009 college football season.

Let's recap: Earning himself a valid candidacy for the "Robert Goulet Memorial Mustached American of the Year" honor, McCoy grew a fresh labia sebucula (Latin for "lip sweater") this summer for the purpose of Texas Longhorn team unity.

Initially, because it so resembled the fur above his eye sockets, the American Mustache Institute was skeptical of whether, in fact, his lip sweater was real and not simply a third eyebrow. So we sent a team of AMI-certified mustacheologists to Austin to speak with, and examine, Horse Boy's mustache. It was found to be indeed real, though that did not keep it from being stricken from this world.



The real tragedy here is that McCoy's perverse sense of vanity has submarined a symbol of team unity, and likely the Longhorns dreams of a national championship. Not only did he betray the vitality of his adolescent equine moniker, but in turn he will undoubtedly weaken his Heisman hopes. Sure, the Mustached American people were robbed of a role model, but in a larger sense this is an affront to the great state of Texas -- a well-known sanctuary for those sporting robust fuzzy ticklers.

In the end, we are left with the simple truth: Colt was once a beacon of freedom with his unwavering commitment to a furry friend atop his noise maker. He had the hopes of the Longhorn nation and his Heisman supporters in his pocket. Now, however, as a fuzz-free mortal, he's just a pony without a mane, a boy without this manhood, Neil Diamond without his raspy voice. And that just makes it easier for Tim Tebow. And that just makes me sick.

For Dr. Abraham J. Froman's mustache perspective, check in every Wednesday on Asylum.