The Intelligence Estimate

I got my hair cut yesterday at a little place about two blocks from our apartment. I've gone there before, but I've never been happy with the results. I don't know why I keep going back. Apparently I forget how horrible they are between visits. Maybe that's a survival instinct, because if I held on to that anger for the entire 5 weeks between haircuts the result would definitely be bodily harm if not arson.

The only selling point of this place is location. They never listen to what I want. No matter what haircut I ask for...




















...this is what I get.




















That's the only haircut they have apparently. The Chemotherapy special.

Now, you can't really tell it from this picture, but after the massacre was complete the "stylist" went back with the clippers and took a few random stabs at my hairline around the widows peak and the little patch between the peaks. I have yet to understand why anyone would want that. She's basically saying "You're not going bald fast enough, I can help."

The funny part is that the haircut in the first picture was from a lady at a different salon who frightened me much more than the stylist responsible for the travesty in the second. Stylist number one was an obese lady that only used one hand the entire time. This was especially alarming when she was doing flybys with the clippers. As she was vigorously shampooing my head (read: drowning me) I hoped that I would make it out alive. But it turned out to be one of the best cuts I've gotten in a long time. However the stylist responsible for the G.I Joke in the second photo was sweet as can be. That's how they get you. Don't be lured into candy houses for sugary sweet haircuts by kindly old ladies. They really wanna make a pie out of you.