The Case Against Barbers

Folks, let's
set aside the entendres for once. Who's counting? I can be
a peaceable man if you pay me. I take dollars
Canadian, U.S., Australian or attention, and yes, I do make change
but face it: there's no real reason for us to mince hairs,
here. We all know

who the invisible elephant in the room is, and
we all know it isn't over 'til he or she or it sings
so please, sit down, please, please for a moment

- and could you dim the lights?

The presentations begins. My song is this: Folks,
if there's anything more irritating in a prose stylist
than an affectation of affection for internal, accidental (plausibly
-deniably) or otherwise off-rhyme, it's the guy who's sincere about it! Because ho,
li,

shit. At that point... can he even style himself a stylist? Call that style?

It's even a little borderline off-putting calling it prose,
borderline-wise, but we all acknowledge
how wide that fat latitude borderline is in the art world,
these days. It's like

no limits or something - it's amazing that globe
can spin at all on that flat, clumsy axis. And that brings us
smack back dab to the middle of this whole anti-barber question. Or was that

further down? With all the edits and revisions, I confess
I lost track myself. It's a process, losing track.

But being as this is a forty four magnum.

The most powerful handgun in the world.

And would blow your head

CLEAN OFF.

Use the blower, alright
I know you'd prefer papertowels but go green OK? We're talking about
a boycott on all barbers. Potentially? Theoretically? This could be

huge. We have the power, as activists, to vote with a wallet, and if
it's mine? If we all combine? We could take a borderline obsolete profession
and render it a fucking anarchonism. Why?

Why would he do it, you ask? I will tell you.

I have no choice.

Join me.