Why I enjoy hair metal? The hair of course! I hope we’ll have toupée metal too. I can see it now… a minute into headbanging and the toupée flies into a woman’s* face, she gleefully squeals, intoxicated by the sweat and glue on the underside of the toupée (the life of a fan amounts to the toupée, not the artist per se). These bands would rule the scene for a short but brilliant time only to later succumb to male-pattern unbaldness**, called hacks by some, nostalgically remarked by those in their time and virtually unknown by the denizens of youth enthralled by the en vogue baldness. The boldness of baldness (see that scalp shine like the top of the Chrysler Building!***). As days pass and winds break, so too does the memories of toupée metal. The Golden Age of music shall begin and end with the one and only toupée.****
*I said woman because I imagined a stereotypical groupie. I’m horrible, I know. But if it makes you feel better, she’s a strong, independent woman that collects wigs and toupées for a living and is commissioned by the Lourve. She has a reason to be excited. Gosh!
**Don’t hate, some men have trouble losing their hair. Acceptance and respect is key.
***Santa Claus what’s that? Who’s he?
****One Toupée to rule them all, One Toupée to find them; One Toupée to bring them all and in the darkness bind them… And then Frodo throws the Toupée into the fires of Mordor and then the groupie/synthetic-hair comissioner turns into a Gollum of sorts and jump’s after the Toupée, calling out to her precious. She’s no longer recognizable, not human, not hobbit but Donald Trump.
Thank you, that is all.
My life motto is "you never know when you'll be shanked; so shank that hoe before they shank you."
That...is a disappointing motto to live by.
More like afraid of trying, afraid of making mistakes, afraid of growing older and still doing nothing, being nothing. Our actions define us, even the ones we don’t take - but that’s just it, non-action feels like slowly disappearing out of existence.