He does it every day, in his own very special way:
“This morning I was smoking a cigarette outside, looking awesome in my old purple ripped t-shirt that reveals my cool back tats (THESE OLD THINGS?!) when a women came jogging towards me, led by her child with flowing blonde locks riding a bicycle. As the child approached on the sidewalk I thought to myself, “Step out of the way and conceal your cigarette. This kid doesn’t need to realize how hard it is to be awesome just yet.” So I did, and the kid mumbled “Thank you,” just before the Mom, checking to see if her tits were bouncing too much in her sports bra (“No such thing as too much tit bouncing,” I thought to myself) also said “Thanks!” “No problem!” I yelled back. “She already said thank you! Very polite.” The mother made a weird face, and that’s when I realized that maybe the child was a boy. Damn Southern California and their androgenous children. “No bother,” I thought. “I helped them either way. Told them they’ve got a polite girl or told them they need to cut their gay little boy’s hair.” And that’s why I’m the best.”
100% chance this kid has issues in his twenties.
Not the first time he’s sent me a pic that almost made me puke…
Yep. That's a long hair in a freezer.
“Looks like that hair I was freezing is finally ready! Oh happy day! Seriously, someone kill me.”
Guess why I haven’t put anything on the site for a bit? Our internet went out. Is that even possible any more? I called my Dad at work and he said “You don’t need it anyway.” Here’s what we missed:
“I used to date a hairdresser named Sylvane. First off, who the Hell is named Sylvane? Not Silvia. Sylvane. I’m even having a hard time typing it, that’s how stupid of a name it is. Anyfarts, this chick didn’t know much about much, but she did tell me one thing that I’ve never forgotten:
When using hair products, whatever amount you scoop or squeeze out, put ½ of it back.
A of all, that’s a fucking great hair product tip. But B and most importantly of all, it reminded me of this epic Universal Truth:
When around women in a big group setting, take whatever you’re about to say, and choke ½ of it back.
Like excess hair gel, too many words equals a sticky, crunchy mess of bullshit with women. Women love to talk in circles. If there was NASCAR for talking, there would be like 98 women and two gay dudes in there. So don’t give them the opportunity to entrap you by not saying anything. I had a buddy who might’ve said less words than women he had sex with in college. Something like 192 words to 201 girls. Fucking Albert Pujols style. Why? Silence scares the shit out of people, especially when they’re talking a lot themselves. And guys walk way too much in college, so go for the contrast and be the guy just observing everyone. Save your witty little comments and instead wait until everyone’s silent and say something semi-profound and completely mysterious like “Silence is golden and duct tape is silver, ya know?” And make sure the carpet’s clean cuz the panties are about to drop on it!!!!”
Since he sent another email last night, and because there’s too much in that email to dissect, I will just say “can’t wait” to try that.
Wishes it was a talking race. It's not.
Or something bad like this could happen to you too:
“I was just informed by a co-worker that I have a few grey hairs. His funeral is Saturday if you’re free.”
If he just embraces the gray his life will obviously get awesome!
This may become applicable for me soon:
“Remember for when you fail out of school, that the length of your sideburns is inversely proportional to your hireability as an employee. Wait, no. I’m trying to say that the longer your sideburns are, the more people will like you and want to hire you and look at your hair-covered face all day. No, wait– not that. The longer your weiner is. Yep, that’s the one. Good luck!”
What if you get crazy with it like Luda?