W ell first off I don’t wanna disappoint anyone but this post doesn’t really have anything to do with pubic hairs, cutting of pubic hairs (though I could tell an interesting story) or eating them. Actually, it doesn’t really have anything to do with fat people either. I was just gonna spew about my recent haircut and the erroneous conversation that always accompanies this act and while writing the title, “pubic hair,” fat people,” and “scissors” just seemed to gel.
I basically hate talking while I’m getting my hair cut. Secondly, I don’t understand why the person cutting your hair thinks that you actually want to talk to them. Maybe I’m just an asshole, but motherfucker, I don’t wanna talk to you. I wanna get my damn hair cut, pay you your outrageous flat rate for my “male cut” and be on my way. It usually starts with something like this:
Hair stylist: “Well the sun is finally coming out now. Isn’t that nice?”
Me: “Yeeup.”
Hair stylist: “What’s new? Anything? How’s work?”
Me: “Work’s alright.” (I want to say, “Fuck you! Work sucks my balls bitch. How’s your work? You like cutting hair every day? Each and every fucking day of the week? I bet some people have lice don’t they? I bet you wanna fucking chop their heads off when they do don’t you? Good now let me fart in piece. *Farrrrttttttttttt*
The whole act of talking while your getting something done to you that physically can’t be stopped (ie. hair growing, tumor removal surgery, abortion scraping) just pisses me off. I don’t wanna be there, and I’m sure you don’t either. But it’s your job, so shut the fuck up and do it. When you’re done, I’ll either be pleased or displeased (in the event that your tumor removal or abortion scraping surgery had some complicated malfunction or inadvertent failure that results in terminal infection- dead,) and be on my way. End of story, end of thought.
PS- I just remembered where the “fat people” came from in my brain while I was writing the title of this post.
While my g/f and I were enjoying a casual lunch at a local eatery/cafe this enormous bitch walks in. The kind of enormous where both legs can’t establish their own “zone” kinda shit…you know what I’m talkin’ about… She proceeds to ask the chef something. They were on a first name basis. I thought to myself, “Damn she’s fuckin’ fat. She knows the chef too. Not surprised. I bet she’s getting a second lunch. Stupid fat ass.
