There comes a time in every dirty, smelly hippie's life when he must abandon his ugly, stupid-looking hair. While shaggy hair provides a satisfying feeling of being different and more daring than normal people, it also looks like total ass. Employers don't want to hire hippies, women don't want to date hippies, and friends tend to suspect hippies first whenever a sandwich is stolen from a refrigerator. The time has come to cut my hair, dear reader.
While I originally hoped shaggy hair would look good on me, I've come to the realization that it makes me look like a poof. I am not Adrian Greener, Orlando Bloom, or Russell Crowe. My shaggy hair isn't thin and striking, exuding sex appeal and machismo. It's thick and wavy, and makes me look like Oscar Wilde's cabana boy.
When strangers approach you and - completely out of the blue - ask you if you're a paige in a Shakespearean play, it's time to cut your hair. I've tried thinning it out, but that doesn't work. My hair is just too thick. Last week my barber removed an inch and a half of hair all around my head, and after washing and styling it back home, it didn't look any different. An inch and a half of hair was removed, yet it looked like I hadn't received a haircut at all. It was almost as if my hair grew back while I was driving home.
I'm scared that my hair has become a separate being that is plotting against me. I'm planning to cut it short next week, but what if my hair attacks me when it realizes I'm driving to the barber? It's thick enough to cover my eyes and cause an accident, or even to suffocate me while I'm stopped at a traffic light. I should have a friend shave my head in the middle of the night, when my hair and I are both asleep.
It's a sad predicament. I have no other choice but to cut it. I tried this new look, but it just doesn't work for me. It makes me sad to let it go, because I hate the idea of looking like all the other douchebags in this city, but I guess it's better than having hair that looks like a big bowl of tapioca pudding.
I don't know what that means. It sounds funny, though. Let's leave it in there.
So it's back to short hair for me. Many of you have berated me for my shaggy hair, and I'll ask that you celebrate your victories quietly in your own homes, rather than in the comments section of this column. You're all cowards! Cowards, I say! Go back to eating the same bologna sandwich for lunch every day, you vile motherfuckers!
(Slaps readers with lacy glove while shrieking furiously)
Oh dear. It seems I have become Oscar Wilde's cabana boy. How the hell did that happen? I need to cut this hair as soon as possible. Its roots are seeping into my brain. Next thing you know, I'll be contracting syphilis and wearing theatrical outfits with peacock feathers while tossing witty retorts at anyone within shouting distance of me. I don't want to die in a French hotel while insulting the wallpaper, reader. It's time for this hair to go.
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