There are some seriously disturbing trends with young men these days and for once it’s got nothing to do with porn, drugs or sex. Why is it that just about every adolescent boy is trying their best to look like a girl?
Every time I'm anywhere I’m struck by just how many long fringed, long sided, long mulleted bouffant hairdos there are being worn by fellas. Throw in some daggy sunnies – present company excluded Big Al – skin tight jeans and you have something that’s neither hetro nor metro sexual, but asexual. It’s not even grunge or alternative, which in my day was about as asexual as a fella could get but even then everyone knew Kurt Cobain, who we were all trying to mimic, was a fella. But now our young men are dressing more and more like the Hanson boys and look where it got them.
‘Freedom of expression’ this looking like a girl might be, but its also making them look a lot like a waster. How do they see exactly with their long fringes pasted over their eyes? If it’s impaired vision you want why not just whack a pair of testes on the forehead as well and complete the look? It can only be described as not wanting to look like anything but trying to look like something. Make up your minds I say and either choose to look like a man or tuck it between the legs and go girl. And don’t get me started on the lady boys who then want to look hard by wearing their hoodie up whilst in the mall, thus removing their last bit of sensory perception. I’ve decided that to combat this I’m going to start giving a downtrou to anyone wearing a hoodie inside. We'll see how long the hoodies stay up when the tweeds start a comin down.
It’s a sad indictment on society today that mothers are happy for their boys to look like shaggy dogs rather than make them cut their hair and risk having little Tarquin resent them for it. Fathers are too scared to be real men in case they get done for abuse and are not dragging their sons down to the barbers every six weeks like our Dads did with us. And lets get one thing straight right now - a barber shop is not to be confused with a hair salon either. You don’t get a wash, a shampoo and a pair of boobies in the face like you do at Rodney ‘Titty’ Wayne when you visit a real barbers, which is a good thing because frankly, teats have no place near a real haircut. That's why these haircuts exist todays because these wasters go to the salon and have some chick boob bag them rather than using a bowl on the head as a guide like Mum used too.
My step father was like clock work when it came to haircuts. We’d be down at the Naenae barbers five minutes after it opened at 7am to wait in line with all the retired guys who were there for three things only; a cut, some tobacco and to get the hell out of the house and away from their wives. Old Les was my favourite barber, he’d been doing in so long that he had a permanent hunchback which meant you could never quite tell if he was looking at you or not due to the height of his head and his inability to raise it. He knew everybody by name and their favourite cut but then that was easy because there’s only one cut at a real barbers shop; short back and sides.
There’s nothing quite exhilarating as walking to school with a new haircut on a cold morning that still stings around the neck because Les ran the clippers a little too close. Recently my wife gave me an unexpected blast back to my past when she gave me a number one all over whilst cutting my hair. It’s really quite something to see a man in his thirties with an ADHD kids cut but I’ll tell you what, I never got mistaken for a girl.
To top all this madness off, Reading Cinemas – the arsehole of cinemas – apparently no longer sell Jaffas, Snifters or Pineapple Lumps. Well fuck me, what else is there to eat at the movies? And it’s typical really of a company like Reading, who charge exorbitant prices for movies that if you haven’t already downloaded it off the Net you can buy on DVD in a week’s time anyway, to deny you your favourite sweet. Reading's like to think that their big chairs and big screens make the difference when compared with other cinemas but when they’ve run all the other theatres – whose seats and screens are fine by the way – out of business then I’ll tell you what will be even bigger at Readings; the prices! The pricks.
I’m going to go to Readings every weekend now just for the hell of it and conceal on my persons, quite possibly in my cavities, one of those catering sized bags of Jaffas that you get from Moore Wilson’s. I’m not going to eat them mind you; I’m just going to roll them around the theatre so that when they’re cleaning up they’ll think “Shit. Jaffas. We don’t sell those how the hell did they get in here! Someone’s bringing in food they bought elsewhere…”. The ultimate mindfuck. Then they’ll want to start searching everybody who goes in to see a movie from that point on and my work there will be done, because no one is gonna put up with that shit, no matter how big the seats are.
Because you see real men eat Jaffas. And get their hair cut at a barbers and not Titty Waynes. That’s just how we roll.
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