Toph Speaks

I have got to find a new haircutter guy. I hate him. First off, I realize that this is mostly my fault, but I will pass some of the blame on to Ray and Beau. They didn’t hold a gun to my head to get my hair cut there, but were pretty much singing its praises. Allow me to describe the haircutters shop. It’s old. They have some sweet newspaper clippings on the wall. There are at least three clippings of President Reagan, a clipping of Yao Ming, and a lot of pictures of really cheesy suckas with bad hair. Yes, this is the place I subject myself to when I get a haircut. There are two guys that work in this place. Keep in mind it’s called EUREKA! and yes, I get my haircut by a dude. Here’s why. I used to get chicks to cut my hair. My little apron would pop up with my precious boner, and the haircut would be so so. However, it would end up costing like $50 and I would tip her 50 percent because she’s hot, and it would be decent. Now, if she messed up, I wouldn’t say anything because she’s hot and I was most likely doin’ her. I love doin’ it. So, that’s when I decided that was all stupid, and started going to dudes to cut my hair. I didn’t go to dudes younger than 50, because those guys are very strange. They end up making you look like a muppet baby. I’m not sure which one, but I think it’s a cross between Fozzie and Animal. I found that barbers don’t take no crap from anyone. They don’t talk much, and there’s usually a sport or two on the TV. It’s a relaxing calm environment where men can relax, and get a way from it all. Barbershops are the strip clubs of haircutting places, without the hot naked ladies, but that’s not too far out of the realm of possibilities. I could become rich with the first stripper barbershop. Could you imagine? You’re getting a sweet fad, which obviously people still get, while some chick is giving you a lap dance. Your hair is flying all over the place, and she loves it. She goes home that night all itchy from freshly cut hair all over her sweet body. It’d be nice. So, that’s why I go to old barbers. Now, at EUREKA! there are only two dudes that work there, which I think I mentioned before. One is a little, old Asian man, and the other is a little, younger Asian man. The haircut is the most intricate, time consuming cut ever conceived by a human. They start out by asking you want you would like. I tell them, with details, what I am anticipating when I walk out. I tell them a half and inch off, and do not touch the sideburns! See, unlike most people, I don’t have real sideburns. I have little pieces of hair that fall by my ear. I’m okay with this, unless you take it away. Then, I am not okay with this. So, the little, old Asian man starts cutting away. Slowly. I watch, and I wait. I slip in and out of sleep. He finishes with the scissors and I look good. He then gets a shaver, and slowly shaves little pieces of hair. Danglies, if you will. He stops and still looks okay, I mean, the sideburns are still there. He then gets another shaver, smaller, and starts shaving the danglies. Yes, again. He then gets a smaller shaver and starts to shave my neck very slowly. Sideburns still there. He puts down that shaver, and hour has passed. Can you believe he picks up another shaver? Shaves maybe 2 danglies, but goes over my whole head, my whole head for 2 danglies. Then, he gets one more shaver. That’s right, one more shaver. Whoop… there go my sideburns. Finally, he stops. Rat bastard. At this point, every time, I am fuming. He then gets the mirror and says, “I make you look handsome.” No, Don, you didn’t make me look handsome. You made me look 5. This haircut should have been over an hour ago, Don, but you’ve been shave millimeters off then end of my hair. Don, I hate you. This is when it gets weird. Don will then start to give you a massage. At this point you’ve been there for and hour and a half for a simple $10 haircut, and it should have been over a goddamned hour ago, DON.
You can’t tell him to stop. He probably knows martial arts. So, there you are, with a crappy haircut, no sideburns, and an old, Asian man giving you a massage. Well, not any more, Don. You’re not going to put me through that ever again. From now on I’m going to the hot girl down the street. At least she’ll give me boners, Don.

So, Camel has a new cigarette. It’s called no. 9. Have you tried it? I fuckin’ love it. The pack is amazing. It’s black and pink, and the cigarette itself is white and pink. Calm down, it’s not gay. It’s cool. Anyhow, I saw the sign outside of a convenient store yesterday, and I had to buy a pack. I had a coupon, too, so I got 2 packs. I sat down to enjoy one of these no. 9’s, and it was amazing. Okay, I’ve cut down my smoke intake by more than 50 percent. I’m proud of myself. But, with the first no. 9 I had, I was in flavor country. Just as I start slipping away, Camel brings me right back in. The taste is almost non-existent, which I think is what we want in a cigarette. There’s no aftertaste, and it does not smell as bad as most cigarettes. God, I love smoking. I was sitting on my stoop, and I felt like the coolest fucking, dude. That’s what smoking does, man, whether you like it or not it’s cool. It’s so damn cool. Go out, buy a pack, and be cool. I’m not trying to peer pressure. No, this is different. You will be cooler if you smoke no. 9’s. Take it from me. I’m The Toph.