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." -- Mimus hasn't written anything funny about me lately. ***************************************** * * * Wavy G * * mail me at: * * godsspeciallamb@gmail.com * * * * * *****************************************
On Mon, 28 Jan 2008 12:43:43 -0500, Wavy G <godsspeciallamb@gmail.com> 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
Wavy G <godsspeciallamb@gmail.com> wrote in news:os4sp3pqj0rietctnllogo96b2gmp60eau@4ax.com: > 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." > I'm outraged. Bertie
Dear, "Daedalus": Do you like me? Please check a box ( ) YES ( ) NO: >On Mon, 28 Jan 2008 12:43:43 -0500, Wavy G <godsspeciallamb@gmail.com> >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. ***************************************** * * * Wavy G * * mail me at: * * godsspeciallamb@gmail.com * * * * * *****************************************
On Mon, 28 Jan 2008 13:23:50 -0500, Wavy G <godsspeciallamb@gmail.com> wrote: >Dear, "Daedalus": Do you like me? Please check a box ( ) YES ( ) NO: > >>On Mon, 28 Jan 2008 12:43:43 -0500, Wavy G <godsspeciallamb@gmail.com> >>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 think your method is beautiful. Tell me, do you yell at the paper or otherwise curse before throwing it away? > >I love you. I love you too. Jade
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." > I want to be sexually abused.
captdan@aol.com wrote in news:ETpnj.8493$Ej5.7253 @newssvr29.news.prodigy.net: > 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." >> > I want to be sexually abused. > Rob may be albe to help. You like nazi uniforms? Bertie
Wavy G <godsspeciallamb@gmail.com> wrote in news:os4sp3pqj0rietctnllogo96b2gmp60eau@4ax.com: > 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. One of those cheap-yet-expensive, shitty haircut places with about eight chairs, staffed by college kids and bored housewives. Yuck. > 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. There's still one or two of those 'round here. They're inexpensive and do a good job, but they're scary when they whip out the straight razor because those old guys have shaky hands. I always tip at least 20% so the old coot will be sure and remember to take his meds the next time I pay a visit. > 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. WTF do you look at the mags and shit for?! You're supposed to stare at the hottie manning the cash register. That's why she's wearing that tight shirt with the plunging neckline. Go ahead and stare. Nobody will notice you; they're busy staring, too. (Yes, even the female customers are staring. But for a different reason; i.e., they're jealous and they're trying to telepathically induce a fatal heart attack.) 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. What, no physical contact? Last time I visited one of those shitholes I almost felt like I'd gotten a lap dance. It was like she was trying to style my hair with her boobs, or something. > 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). Sure, they're trained to work with the public. I think Lesson One is: "Act slutty and you'll get more money." > 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. Didja stick it down the front of her shirt? That's what they expect. > 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." I dunno, don't you think it would be pretty fucking creepy to have one of those old guys rubbing up against your face and calling you "sweetheart" every few minutes?
Bertie the Bunyip wrote: > captdan@aol.com wrote in news:ETpnj.8493$Ej5.7253 > @newssvr29.news.prodigy.net: > > >>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." >>> >> >>I want to be sexually abused. >> > > > Rob may be albe to help. You like nazi uniforms? > > Bertie I like nazi uniforms.....as long as they are clean and pressed with lots of starch.
toughturd <webslave@101glock.com> wrote in news:wBInj.903$Ch6.825 @newssvr11.news.prodigy.net: > Bertie the Bunyip wrote: > >> captdan@aol.com wrote in news:ETpnj.8493$Ej5.7253 >> @newssvr29.news.prodigy.net: >> >> >>>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." >>>> >>> >>>I want to be sexually abused. >>> >> >> >> Rob may be albe to help. You like nazi uniforms? >> >> Bertie > I like nazi uniforms.....as long as they are clean and pressed with lots > of starch. > Robbie's your djork then! Bertie
