Cut-ups

I look forward to going back to my hair place. Its a place called Cut-Ups. Humor fills the air, jokes flying, maniacal laughter and they cut your hair in wild, aggressive spurts and surges between side-splitting tales that usually involve their own grandmothers. When they're done with your hair, you look like an absolute jackass if you're lucky. If you're not, you will have a couple of deep gashes that will take weeks to heal, in addition to looking like a jackass.

I usually look for the barber who is the least inebriated, but I finally gave up, because generally they're all smashed, so I just sit down and brace myself for a great time and a few sharp stabs with the scissors. I draw the line with Bert, because he generally has his trousers down, and if they're not, they will be before he's done cutting your hair.... Bert's too much. Sometimes he craps on the floor after he thinks he just told a great joke, so his whole area is a bit of a disaster.