XPost: alt.alien.vampire.flonk.flonk.flonk, alt.usenet.kooks, re
.aviation.military
From: godsspeciallamb@gmail.com
Dear, "Daedalus": Do you like me? Please check a box ( ) YES ( ) NO:
>On Mon, 28 Jan 2008 12:43:43 -0500, Wavy G
>wrote:
>
>>Attention newsgroup friends: I have some disturbing news to report to
>>you all. Last week I went to get my hair cut (please don't make the
>>obvious joke about how it should be worded "hairs cut" because, a] of
>>the serious nature of this post and, b] that's really tiresome) at one
>>of these discount hair salons. Now, as you are all probably aware, most
>>of the people they hire to cut hair these days are girls (at least in
>>the places I've lived). Therein the problem lies.
>>
>>Remember the old days, when you'd go down the street to the corner
>>"barbershop," and get your hair cut by a kindly old man in a white
>>jacket with a comb in his pocket? And at any given time, during normal
>>business hours, you'd see the men of the town sitting around at the
>>local barbershop, gossiping, reading the paper, playing checkers,
>>talking about the weather, etcetera. It was like the "boys club." Well,
>>no, I don't really remember those days, but I've seen that sort of stuff
>>in movies and on "Saturday Evening Post" calendars and stuff.
>>
>>Anyway, I'm sitting there at the hair salon, waiting to be called on,
>>and perusing one of those dated hairstyle selection books, (which looked
>>more like a bunch of "In Living Color" publicity stills, circa 1992) for
>>what seemed like half-an-eon. During an apparent break between smoking
>>and gabbing on the phone, the girl finally decided to come up front and
>>look at the sign-in sheet. I was brimming with anticipation; I knew I
>>was next! She called my name and I looked up, all surprised-like, as if
>>I hadn't been expecting them to call me so quickly, and headed on back
>>to get my hair trimmed. This is where it all went bad...
>>
>>I sat down in the chair, and the girl put the cloth around my neck, and,
>>skipping the small-talk, she boldly asked me, "How do you want your hair
>>cut today, hon?" WHAT?!?! Did I just hear what I think I heard? Did
>>this girl just call me "hon"? No, she couldn't have, not in this day
>>and age. I thought I would just let it slide and pretend it didn't
>>happen. She went on... "Can you tip your head down for me,
>>sweetheart?" What? "Sweetheart"??? She used another sexually-tilted
>>term, as though trying to make a "pass" at me. And, as if that weren't
>>bad enough already, she used the term "hon" again, only this time
>>coupled with a blunt and offensive proclamation that she was going to do
>>her best to "keep [me] handsome." I was officially a victim of sexual
>>abuse.
>>
>>How could this happen? Aren't these girls trained to work with the
>>public? Don't they know that this sort of behaviour is inappropriate
>>these days? I mean, you would think that in the 21st century (Wow, that
>>sounds weird saying, doesn't it? It's like we're all living in the
>>future and shit.) a man could go into a hair salon, or any place of
>>commerce, without having to worry about being harassed by the sex-crazed
>>females hired to work there for pittance. I just couldn't take it any
>>more. Finally, she said, "well, you're all finished, 'handsome,'" (as
>>if not acknowledging it the first go around means I didn't hear it).
>>
>>I got up from the chair and walked away, brushing my own follicle
>>trimmings off my person, as if symbolically shedding what little dignity
>>hadn't already ended up with the sweepings on the floor. Though I was
>>doing all I could not to cry, I knew I had to be strong. I held my head
>>up, and walked up to the counter to pay for her services, and to get my
>>preferred customer card stamped. I tipped her, because I am an honest
>>gentleman, but I assure you it was meagerly. As I walked out to my car,
>>holding on to what shred of dignity I had left, I felt a cool breeze
>>tickle the clippings that had fallen on the back of my neck, and I
>>longed for the days of the "Saturday Evening Post."
>
>
>Wavy,
>I am so sorry for the pain you've endured at the hands of this
>predator. As a fellow soul seeking peace, I know you are well in tune
>with exorcising these traumas from yourself.
>
>I have a technique I use often myself to help purge the negative
>residue from my life. I project the feelings I have onto stuffed
>animals and use them as surrogates.
>
>I have a stuffed penguin named Snowflake that has helped me through
>many incidents I endure in my outings. Just the other day as I was at
>the dry cleaner and received change from a careless clerk named Claire
>who did not stack the bills in order of monetary value. I went home
>feeling angry that she did not love me enough to take care with my
>money. I immediately commenced to strangle snowflake and yell "Ones on
>top of fives, Claire! Ones on top of fives!" for several minutes
>before my soul let go and I could apologize to Snowflake and pet her
>soft fur.
>
>This technique may be useful to you in the future. Just know I care
>about you.
>
>Be well.
>
>Jade
Thank you for that advice, Jane. However, I'm no psychologist or
anything, but I feel like you're projecting your feelings towards Claire
upon poor Snowflake. Might I suggest a new method: sit down at your
computer terminal input device, and type up a message about your
feelings of hatred and disgust towards this horrid strumpet. Then,
print out your message and crumple it into an angry wad, unravel it and
shred it into tiny pieces. This is usually what I do to relieve myself
of the pain and anguish that real life causes me. It also keeps the bad
man who lives inside my throat from coming out of my fingertips and
killing people again.
I love you.
--
Mimus hasn't written anything funny about me lately.
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* *
* Wavy G *
* mail me at: *
* godsspeciallamb@gmail.com *
* *
* *
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--- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05
* Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)
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