Hair Cut and An Attitude

Got my hair cut this morning. Barber said, "You look like shit. What the fuck happened to you?"

He was looking at me like he was sure I was getting my hair cut to save a funeral director the trouble of trimming it after I died within the next 48 hours. I reminded him of my involvement in the provincial election.

He shook his head disapprovingly. "You better stay out of that shit. I have plans for the couple grand you are going to spend in this chair if you don't drop dead before you fucking retire."

Good thing provincial campaigns are not that long. Talking to people, then drinking to forget the motherfuckers, for over a month straight, no time off for good behaviour, is not good for your health. No wonder politicians cannot think fucking straight.

I was even trying to keep up with the horses as I was electioneering. That was not such a good idea. Takes time to pick winners - something you do not have enough of when you are up to your ears in the steaming shit pit of the democratic process. I did not pick many.

Now it is over though. I am slowly feeling better as life's speed returns to 33 rpm from 78 and horse after grinning horse makes its way to be photographed in the winner's circle.