Congratulations Buzzcut!

You set stock by three things in your life: your impeccably straight teeth, your incredibly well constructed investment portfolio and your absolutely fabulous hair. The first just come from the way you were born. The second is kind of boring, and if we were to describe it here our readership, yourself aside, would probably black out from boredom.

But the latter is nearly beyond description. Your hair is a work staggering beauty. It’s wondrous in its simplistic perfection. It’s short and sassy, but it has depth to it and makes a big statement without saying much. It has more to it than hair, in general, deserves to.

And you spend a lot of time thinking about it. So much, in fact, that it has cost you two wives, three mistresses, and one girlfriend, but it has been worth it. Oh so worth it.

After all, you attribute all of your success to it. Your wealth, your physical fitness and your many cats, all of them came from your hair. The cats more specifically because of your conditioner, which drives cats fucking wild.

Lately things have been good for you. You’ve got a wife who understands your relationship with your hair, and you’ve been weathering the recession better than most people in your line of work, in your mind all because of the hair.

But you changed mistresses last week (the old one just couldn’t deal with how fabulous your scalp was or the fact that you invested so heavily in factory farms, the crazy twat) and she’s been kind of tough to deal with. And, to boot, various stock drops have been cutting in to your holdings. You’ve begun to lose money. Slowly, now, but if your hair is right (and it always is) its going to get a lot worse before it gets better.

By the way, you believe your hair can tell the future.

Which is why it will be so devastating tonight when your bitch of a mistresses takes a trimmer to your glorious follicles. She won’t get the whole thing, just a little piece, but it’ll be enough to destroy the entire look.

Your confidence will be shattered, you’ll be filled with rage and you’ll hit her. Hard. Then you’ll do it again. And again. You’ll break her nose and her jaw and you’ll make a lot of noise doing it. The neighbors will call the cops and you’ll end up in county within two hours.

It’ll bode ill for your marriage, your money and your reputation as a cool, collected investment banker. You’ll be sitting in your cell considering hanging yourself with your belt at day’s end. It was all going so well for you this morning, but now there doesn’t seem to be any hope in sight.

We suggest that you wait until tomorrow morning before you make your big decision. You might just discover that the strength of your investments had nothing to do with your hair and that the power was in you all along.

The health bit was accurate, though, and you’ll start to slowly die of scalp cancer.

It’s a tough choice to make. A slow death with pride or a quick, relatively painless snap. Either way, congratulations buzzcut!