I'm sportin a major 'tude right now. I got my hair cut earlier today and I'm looking mighty good. My normal artsy-fartsy stylist left for China last month, so I thought I'd check out a place right down the block. Same kind of trendiness of the place I normally go to, hopefully better magazines.
Called 'em to get a price: $35-$45. I laughed and said, "Well, how much for men?" They repeated the price. They have two different people, one charges a little more. Sharper scissors or something. Nicer smelling powder? Maybe their electric razor gives more goose bumps than the normal kind.
Instead I went to a place near my post office, and I must say "Damn I look good." So good, if I were a "rare earth" I'd have to be a "bitch magnet." I got women comin' outta the woodwork here. Outside my place I got ladies chanting like the villagers who stormed the castle in Frankenstein. In place of torches, they're waiving sexy clothing, and phones numbers scribbled on anything they could find. One woman has a fistful of my snipped locks, and is waving it around. Her arm the candle, my hair, the flame.
It's a good thing you can't see me right now, I'd hate to send my Samson Mojo on ya. Did I mention it looks good? You can't tip enough for this kinda thing. My head is like a work of art. A national monument. If you saw it, you'd probably want to touch it. See if it's real. Oh yes my follicle friend, the cut stops here.
Van Gough would've lopped off the other ear for this cut. Henry VIII would've stopped after wife number two. I'm excited to shower and see this bad boy wet. The ability to make major shampoo horns is gone. I'm limited to little horns, maybe a mini-Pert dread lock or two...
I used to say, "The higher the hair, the closer to god." But now i'm thinking, "The shorter the hair, the closer to one's true self." The female mob outside only points to the fact that I am indeed a Hair Hottie. King of the coiffed.