And the journey is at an end, as I once again shaved the locks in favor of corporate society. But no, that's not it at all, my legions of nappy-headed readers. Please note that robotic-looking thing on my left leg. It's called an "external fixator," and it's pinned into me in six places because I drove my 2001 Toyota Familywagon sideways into yon telephone pole back in August of 2004. And now, almost six months later, I stand, becrutched and smirking, in front of my fourth Camaro with hair short enough to be able to wash underneath a bathtub faucet (showers rust fixators, you see).

Big red flag Blinded by mulletude

Will the hair ever return? Was the Family Wagon driven into a telephone pole on purpose, at least subconsciously? Probably not on both counts. But only my mullet knows for sure, and it still grows inside of me, like a ponderously obtuse shrub.


copyright 2005 David C. Lovelace