The Follicle Follies: A Happy Ending …

Although my literary career remains on pause while I attend to more profane matters, I continue to collect materials, rather unwittingly, for my all-but ordained collection of short stories, Barbershops of the World: My Life with Hair.
Today’s adventure was priceless and had me thinking of the fires of Hatay and Brooklyn’s missing scissors (don’t ask, the shit is proprietary).
Let me just say this: If you have not had a Phillipina woman softly hum Patsy Cline’s Crazy (kwazee for twying, kwazee for cwying, cwazie for luving ooo) while she massages your scalp and her coworkers, mouths full of lasagna, debate whether the same dirty joke sounds better in Spanish or Italian, you do not know the meaning of “happy ending.”
God, let me never go bald. You have made me the anti-Sampson, and without my shearings, I am powerless against the horrible dullness.


4 Replies to “The Follicle Follies: A Happy Ending …”

  1. My follicle follies are not so giddy. How would you like for a Korean lady to tell you she is about to “whack you” as she asks you to drop your panties and lay on the table.

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