Don't Listen to this Man!

So in an attempt to get more worthless stuff on this page in a timely manner I have turned to the one man in this world I despise above all others, my former roommate and archenemy Brian. You can expect a return to the high level of internet magic you usually find on this site in the not so distant future (lets say Sunday-ish)

I've spent the last half hour trying to think of a name for this new reoccurring(?) article. Here's the list of potential names...

1. Ask Frankenberry
2. Swatcats Corner
3. Douchebag with a Computer: The Brian Chronicles

After much thought I've decided to go with something a little more to the point. So without further adieu I give to you the premier episode of...

Don't listen to this Man!

Well, because Matt neglects his blog much like the Spears family neglects the use of birth control, he has allowed me, his former roommate and arch-nemesis, to make some semi-regular posts to keep you people interested (Like you really were before) in his absence. So, to give you the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to venture into my mildly entertaining and slightly disturbing world, I’m going to regale you with little story about my last haircut. Exciting, I know. This is my first blog post, so I’m going to apologize in advance for it sucking, but seriously I don’t apologize because I don’t know you and you probably can’t do any better than this either. Unless you are the next Hemmingway or something (I know I like to drink heavily and degrade women while I write). Anyways, here goes nothing.

Now, because I’m beginning to look like Peter from The Brady Bunch, its about time for me to get a haircut, so I take a trip after work to the local Supercuts. I’ve always gotten my hair did at “the ‘cuts”, mostly due to the fact that there is at least one good looking girl working who likes to wear a low cut shirt that shows off some reasonably impressive cleavage. (I’m a virile male in his prime. Don’t judge me.) Luckily for me, this was one of those times.

So in between me staring at this girls ample chesticles and pretending not to when she looks at me, she decided to strike up a conversation about all the basic crap everyone who doesn’t know you and doesn’t care what you have to say asks you about. I hate that. You see, I have an unwritten rule that I like to follow while getting my haircut: Don’t talk to the haircutter whilst she is cutting hair. I know it seems like an odd rule to have, but I’d rather have the person cutting my hair less interested in my favorite color, and more so on not mutilating me with the 6” pair of shears being held ever so close to my head. Call me paranoid, but whatever. And its not like I ignore people when they say something to me, I just give shortened answers. Usually just a simple yes or no. (I tried to write a plural “yes” there and spellcheck autocorrected to “yeses”. Weird, huh?)

So this girl starts cutting and is asking me a bunch of questions about where I live and shit like that, to which I give my quick and dirty answers to. I probably seem like an ass, but again, I have my rule and I’m still being polite and responding appropriately. As she’s going through the whole haircut routine, she seems to care less and less about the quality of work being done, like she has some new and amazing form of Super-ADD that only allows her 30 seconds of focus before not giving a complete and total shit anymore. Her whole modus operandi went from hair-cutting professional to Helen Keller with a Weedwacker in under 3 minutes time, with my hair being the obvious victim.

At this point, she pauses to for both of us to sit back for a moment and reflect on the work that was just done. This is also the point where I commit a very big no-no. She runs her hand through my mangled mane and grabs a fistful to show me as she asks the question “What do you think?”. Now my mind is still around the vicinity of two minutes ago where the Demon Barber (Barbette?) of Fleet Street is taking chunk after inglorious chunk out of my hair, leaving me in a state of semi-shock and partial dismay. So I go fishing for the only words that I can formulate and let them drip and dangle from my tongue like a 4-day old piece of fish left to rot in the sun.

“It’s alright.”

Good god what have I done. This woman is holding a very large potential murder weapon in her hand and my arms are trapped under this vinyl sheet of death that prevents me from mounting any sort of defense against an incoming attack.

Some of you are probably saying “What’s the big deal, Brian? ‘It’s alright’ seems like a harmless enough statement.” and to you folks I say; Wrong. You see, the exact words I said were “it’s alright” but by reading the context and tone in which it was said, you could see the true statement uttered was “Fuck you, you crazy psycho bitch. This haircut fucking blows giant ass chunks.”

Needless to say, the rest of the haircut was held in silence and an unhappy haircut girl managed to exact revenge by ignoring any and all requests by me about the rest of the cut, which resulted in me losing a good inch of sideburn on one side, and about a half of inch on the other. Also needless to say, I quickly paid the fee without complaint and got the fuck out of Dodge as soon as humanly possible so I could scamper home and fix the damage done.

And that is basically the story of my social ineptitude and superhuman ability to create awkward situations out of almost nothing at all. Sorry for the length of this post, but don’t worry, from here on out they will be much shorter and hopefully less painful for you and less physically disfiguring for me.

Also, look back about 4 paragraphs ago and read that shit again. It’s a god damn literary masterpiece. Maybe I am the next Hemmingway, so here’s hoping the next beer is on you!

Editors Note:

Yea Hemingway also blew his brains out with a shotgun he purchased at Abercrombie &Fitch, while living in Idaho. Fingers crossed this trend continues.
Oh and Hemingway is spelled with one "m" you jackass.

ok gang that's it for now check back sunday for new mindless banter

peace out yo