So I go to the barber on Sunday for my monthly trimming of the mange, and it's pretty uneventful. She's a fat girl like every other scissor jockey on the planet, and I hate the fact that fat girls rub their belly against you when they cut your hair, so I just zone out for most of the haircut and pretend that I'm somewhere happier. She finishes clipping, the haircut looks fine, I give her the money and a decent tip and the deal is done. Right? Wrong.
I'm laying on the couch today and my fiancee suddenly says, "What the fuck is THAT?" She's pointing at the back of my head, then she starts shaking with laughter. I go running into the bathroom, grab a little mirror, and manage to see that there's a bald patch on the back of my head the size of a baby's goddamn fist. Seriously, this thing looks like I was harpooned through the scalp. And it was obviously done with clippers rather than some sort of flesh-eating bacteria. That tubby sack of guts shaved me right down to the short hairs, so now I've got a gigantic patch of pink glowing in the middle of my skull. And I've been walking around like this for five days.
So...yeah. That's my story for today. Crop circle.
I'm laying on the couch today and my fiancee suddenly says, "What the fuck is THAT?" She's pointing at the back of my head, then she starts shaking with laughter. I go running into the bathroom, grab a little mirror, and manage to see that there's a bald patch on the back of my head the size of a baby's goddamn fist. Seriously, this thing looks like I was harpooned through the scalp. And it was obviously done with clippers rather than some sort of flesh-eating bacteria. That tubby sack of guts shaved me right down to the short hairs, so now I've got a gigantic patch of pink glowing in the middle of my skull. And I've been walking around like this for five days.
So...yeah. That's my story for today. Crop circle.






