Much like its cousins, the line beard and the soul patch, the overly trimmed beard makes me feel uneasy. There’s just something about them that says “I have secrets. I have a secret box in a secret room where I keep my secret things. Keep the fuck away from my secret box in my secret room!”
If you are planning a beard-watching vacation anytime soon might I suggest our southern states if you want to check “The Kenny Rogers” off your beard list. A good place to start is near a church or a store that sells jorts. But really, your best bet is to attend any Blue Collar Comedy Tour event. Your beardless head will spin from all the neatly trimmed beards and goatees within reach. Fight the urge to pet these magnificent creatures however! They may seem soft and cuddly but don’t forget about the box of secrets!
You can’t polish a turd but apparently you can take its picture.
God bless you for thinking some zitty kid at the mall can magically turn your nightmarish face into that of a mid-level 80s porn star. Don’t get me wrong, nothing turns me on like a woman with high hair in an acid washed jacket holding her collar with sausage fingers while giving me that “Do me on top of this cat calendar” look.
I just get so hot when I think about slowly removing your vinyl cropped motorcycle jacket from Walmart, ripping open your velcro fly jeans and making love to you on a pile of Star magazines while your Precious Moments figurines nervously watch the entire sweaty mess. I want to trace the curve (yes, the one curve) of your body with a jumbo Cheeto before placing it in your hungry mouth with my orange fingers. Finally, as we time our orgasms perfectly to verse 11 of “The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald” I will pour a two-liter bottle of Mr. Peepers (your favorite generic Dr. Pepper) all over our naked bodies right there on the dirty floor of your trailer.
When you were a child and your parents assured you there was no such thing as the boogeyman… they were wrong. There is a boogeyman and his name is Jaime Gomez or “Taboo Nawasha” or whatever the fuck.
What is up with this turd? Actually, what is up with the whole “band?” What am I missing with this group of misfit toys? Everyone seems to like, or at least tolerate, the Black Eyed Peas but I can’t find a single reason for this phenomenon. Especially with this creepy Medieval Times reject running around like a robot ninja all over the stage.
“Taboo” reminds me of an even more annoying version of the already incredibly annoying Anthony Kiedis. Wait, is it possible they are the same person? They both have that long, flowing hair by Herbal Essence. They both have that Cro-Mag face. They both love to wear gloves at inappropriate times. And the biggest giveaway is their mutual love of incessant karate chopping.
I think this is a conspiracy theory I can get behind.
I am in such a rage spiral right now I can’t even think of a way to make this funny. After watching these two clips of the Tyra Banks audience literally shitting their XXL panties and giving themselves spontaneous miscarriages over the fact that Tyra is showing them her “real” hair, I am now going to pray to God to take me while I sleep tonight. Please God, kill me. No, don’t just kill me, make me explode or burst into flames! In your name I pray.
There is no way I am the same species as these cackling twats. These fuckers make the Oprah audience look like Buddhist monks! How did this happen? How did we become so stupid? Were people always this vapid and I’m just noticing now because of the internet?
If you are reading this post from your iPhone while sitting in the waiting room at one of the thousands of hair salons hilariously named “Shear” something, I can promise you 3 things… 1) you are about to get a shitty haircut 2) you are sitting within 5 feet of a Nagel-style window decal and 3) you don’t really own an iPhone, that’s your VCR remote.
I’m sure the first person to come up with this hilarious pun probably sat straight up in the middle of the night and screamed, “I’ve got it! Shear Talent! Ed. Ed. Ed. ED, WAKE UP! I finally have a name for my salon!” I’m also sure Ed rolled back over and prayed to the Lord to kill him in his sleep. I will give this first person a pass, but this madness (shear madness?) needs to stop. The Government needs to forget all this health care nonsense and immediately put an end to any new salon wanting to be named “Shear” something. Priorities!
I really could have just titled this post “The hats worn by Pearl Jam’s Jeff Ament” and been done with it, but I didn’t want to cheat you out of my hilarious musings.
What is it with old white guys in shitty bands and their love affair with backwards Kangol, berets and other random dumb hats? Obviously a high percentage of these turds (especially Jeff Ament) wear these silly things in a sad attempt to fool the audience* into thinking a wild mane of thick, luxurious hair is waiting to spring forth from its hat cage. Unfortunately we all know the truth.
I can almost forgive the bald guys, but what’s really upsetting are the guys who actually think they look “cool” and youthful because they are rocking a beret. I think in their minds it’s sort of like the cliche of the bookish secretary who needs only to let down her hair and remove her glasses to suddenly look like a porn star. These guys come home after a long casual Friday, pop on the T-shirt/blazer combo, carefully place the Kangol hat at just the right angle that says “whatever man, I’m just hangin’” and, ta-da, the transformation from working stiff to rock star is complete!
I really take comfort in being better than everyone.
*audience = 5 people from their office who had to attend because they have run out of excuses.
I saw A LOT of short, sassy mom hair last week on vacation starting with this gem of a hairdo at the airport. This woman wants the world to know that the kids are in college and she’s ready to put on a comfortable pair of Crocs and get tipsy on 1 and a half margaritas. Oh what the hay, she might even order it with salt on the rim. I’m guessing someone is going to get his bald head rubbed too.
The thing that makes sassy mom hair so special is the fact that, unlike the mullet, it’s party up front and an even bigger party in the back. The whole fucking head is in party mode!
Wait, do I like sassy hair or hate it? I can’t tell anymore.
It is not going to be easy getting through this without vomiting.
I hate hippies. Everyone hates hippies. The only thing worse than a hippie is a hippie with dreadlocks. Ew, a little barf just came up. By definition dreads are disgusting. They are born from neglect and filth (on white people). HOWEVER, somehow it works on real Rasta dudes. BLACK Rasta dudes! It’s an entirely different story when Brad from Cinnabon lets his disgusting hair brush against your cinnamon roll. Sure, Brad loves Sublime and owns Bob Marley’s Greatest Hits on CD and MP3 but he’s hardly “jammin.” Now get me another cinnamon roll you smelly hippie and this time keep that shitty hair of yours out of my delicious icing! You know what Brad, forget it, I don’t even want a cinnamon roll anymore, in fact I may never eat again.
Ironically, these white dirt bags attempt to give off this “hey man whatever” vibe when in reality they are thinking, “hey man look at me, I’m cool, I’m different, do you think I’m cool, I’m in your face, me me me love me.”
If my kid ever tried to pull this shit I would ship him off to Jamaica to live in a tenement yard in Trenchtown.
