Alopecia: A Fate Worse Than Death

       

       This is what I feel like doing to someone when they reference in any way the fact that I do not have a full head of hair. I'm all for being fucked with and usually enjoy it, but I don't understand why people think it's okay to joke about that. I feel like it would be the equivalent of laughing at a burn victim or someone with a hideous deformity, because when it comes right down to it I think of alopecia as just that, a hideous deformity, and there are times that I look at myself in the mirror and it's like I've been living a nightmare for the past ten years, and I mourn for the luscious luxuriant mane I used to have. And to anyone who may be laughing at me now: Would I laugh at you if you lost your genitals in a fire? Well, actually, I probably would now, asshole.

       I also like to lament the fact that in the short time I had all that hair I used it like a shit for brains, managing to get some of the worst haircuts of all time. In pictures it looks like I was taken to the same groomer that did our bichons, but the truth is that I went to a perfectly competent stylist and actually asked for my hair to be cut that way. What the fuck was I thinking? The answer is I wasn't. I was a stupid little bastard with a head full of dogshit, and I wasn't thinking at all. Here is some pretty powerful evidence of that.

       As you can see I used to have a really punchable face. I'm amazed that growing up it only got punched 3 or 4 times, and never hard enough to break the skin or even leave a mark really. But look at that hair. I can't believe how much of it I have on top, and I am just as incredulous about what's happening on the bottom, especially because I know for a fact that my stylist was more than capable of doing a fade. Apparently I decided to go the opposite route. It seems I was a little too cool for fades at that point in my life.

       Now that I am thirty and not thirteen I am no longer too cool for a haircut that makes me look like a normal, fully-functioning human, but my choices are limited now, because if I let my hair grow more than about two inches it starts to get sad, like a cake and also in the sense of pathetic. I'd say in that picture it's pushing three, so I can never again have hair that long, unless I decide to take the combover route, in which case I would like you to please shoot me in the brain--unless I decide to take the beard combover route, in which case I'm still awesome.

       The downside is that I would never have sex other than with Palmela Handerson, and believe it or not that would actually be different from the situation I have now. I actually have a girlfriend, believe it or not, and she doesn't even seem to mind the Elephant Man-like freakshow that is my tragically thinning hair. At least that's what she says. I'm sure she is just as disgusted by it as I am, and simply does not have the self-esteem to find a complete man, such as this one.

       Or perhaps this one.

       Or one of these two.

        Let me make myself explicitly clear. I am not joking. I would gladly trade places with one of these clown cocks simply because they have full heads of hair. I am not even taking into account the fact that they have millions of dollars. Yes, I am that superficial and yes I am that bitter.

       A lot of people think that hair loss is caused or made worse by stress. Well that would explain why Bill Clinton is balder than fuck. Oh, wait, he still has a full head of hair. It has nothing whatsoever to do with stress. I'm sorry but if you think that you have the IQ of a blowjob. You are dumb enough that I could probably trick you into electrocuting yourself, and if I ever get the chance I will do just that. Graying and other signs of aging can be stress related, but male pattern baldness is completely genetic. Plenty of men out there have experienced a lot more stress than I have, and God has yet to semi-literally take a shit on their heads, as he has on mine. 

       This is me and my friend Carson. He's the one who looks like the cool cellmate who doesn't want to rape you. I'm the one who looks like an upstanding member of society. Well looks can be deceiving because I used to be an IV drug user. I was more of a fuck-up than Carson was, and that's saying a lot. This picture was taken on the day I made two years sober. That's right, being sober for two years does not make your hair grow back. I was hoping for that and I was hoping to get super powers. But I guess I'll have to settle for being reasonably happy.

       I have long held the magical belief, on some level, that all of my problems would be solved if I could just get back my hair. Of course this is insanity. I could have the hair of a Greek god and there could be golden fleece growing out of my crotch and it probably would not solve even one of my problems. In fact, one of my biggest problems is wishing I had shit, and one of the biggest solutions to that problem is to be grateful for what I've got. And as hard as it is to say this, I would take real friends over 24 carat pubes any day of the week. 

       In closing, I think that Dane Cook should commit hara-kiri.       

Tweet