I Wanted a Girl With Extensions in Her Hair


Yes, that’s a bowl of hair on our bathroom counter. It’s been there for days. At first I thought it was some kind of hint from my wife that I shouldn’t Nair in the shower, but no.

Cousin It’s porn collection? Maybe. I decided to investigate.

“Honey, is Marv Albert here?”

“What? Why?”

No reason.

His Tijuana Brass wasn’t here either.


I know, not the same guy, but it’s a little word-association thing I do to keep me from thinking about Albert biting asses and wearing panties. I’d rather have “Tijuana Taxi” stuck in my head for a week. When I want that to stop I think about Herb from the old Burger King commercials.

“So,” I continued. “What the hell is in this bowl? Did you melt a Muppet?” I had always wondered what happened to Roosevelt Franklin.


“I took my extensions out,” she replied, not at all impressed with any witty banter emerging from the bathroom.

My wife, she likes to experiment. She’s freaky like that. Unfortunately, I’m still talking about her hair and not an ad on Craigslist.

She had just put extensions in her hair a week ago, even though we’ve been back in Cali for quite some time. She also said she likes the ocean.

The thing is, I don’t really care for bamboo earrings, but I like long hair.

Apparently she decided that the glue was too much for her. That’s what they do you know, they glue the extensions to your head. Basically they use part of a dead horse to stick someone else’s hair on you. That’s kind of gross. I bet that hair was on the floor. Someone swept it.

And now it’s growing on my bathroom counter like a school of sea monkeys evolving.

If it isn’t gone soon I cannot be held accountable for my actions. That is all I’m saying.

Take us out, LL.

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