I don’t own a comb. In fact all that’s in my bathroom is a bar of soap and a $0.79 bottle of shampoo; you know, the cheap stuff that could probably dye your hair orange if you weren’t careful. I keep my hair short enough where I never have to use any hair products. You have to consider the ratio on time spent grooming your hair to getting laid. After five minutes it’s diminishing marginal utility, probably the only term I remember from college level Economics. The reason I sport a 1/8” long buzz cut is that I love to roll out of bed and look like a million bucks (well, maybe a thousand bucks). Anyone with a Mohawk is trying too hard. Once your mohawk gets longer than 10”, it becomes impractical. Every girl wants to touch it, you have to duck under door jams, and your hair gel expense report rivals my drinking tab.
If there was a song that played when you walked into the room with your mohawk, it should be some Indian tribal shit in an effort to remind you that 
back in the 1700’s, Native Americans didn’t have hair gel, they used cured fat from dead animals to lather in their hair. I mean why else do you think they lived in teepees? They needed to vent all that rotting smell upward towards the atmosphere.
I’ve been bitten by a dog twice. The first time isn’t really story-worthy, because my friend’s dog just plain bit me. That’s seriously the entirety of the story, there’s no potential for embellishing.
The second time I got bitten by a dog I watched a homeless guy get hit by a Nissan Sentra in front of the grocery store. I dragged him over to the curb and his mongrel quickly latched onto my forearm. After kicking it senseless in the head (solely for good measures) the firemen came and lawyers leaped out from the bushes unleashing a flurry of business cards. But they didn’t introduce themselves to me: apparently I wasn’t a victim. Looking back on that day, a lawsuit could only get me possession of his grocery cart full of bottles and cans for a grand total of $2.35. The firemen provided some alcohol swabs for my puncture wounds and a bottle of Aquafina (which they bottle in a smelly chemical plant in Latham, NY. I know this because I lived 5 minutes away from it).
Even though I’ve been bitten twice, there’s just one dog I’m afraid of. The only truly vicious, heartless, brutal dog was in that Zelda GameBoy game. It was always chained to a fence and would lash out at you if you came within two button pushes of a carpel tunnel syndrome. 
That reminds me, what’s with all the DJ’s mixing fucking video game music into their tracks? Yea hearing Super Mario is going to get me some ass; I get flashbacks of blowing dust out from the back of a grey Nintendo cartridge in 9th grade thinking about that hot chick in Honors Math class. God I was a fucking loser in high school, I don’t think I got laid once. Then I went to college, grew some facial hair and “looked like that guy from Incubus.” What? Get the fuck out of here you acoustic-piece-of-groupie-shit. I resorted to carrying stray guitar picks and managed to sleep with a handful of sluts, but it wasn’t from going within 50 feet of a video game console, I can guarantee you that. The most intense video game mashup I heard recently is the theme song to Zelda: Link’s Awakening (OG GameBoy edition). It gave me painful memories of walking through the beginner level village with my dinky sword hacking away at the bushes and hoping to find some of those rupees to buy a bow and arrow from the general store. Of course I never had enough patience to accumulate a sufficient amount of rupees, but there was a secret glitch where if you tried walking out the door ~75 times, you could steal the bow and arrow, but forever be banned from the general store, get electrocuted the next time you walk in, or get maimed by the rabid dog.
The main character had an insane haircut. It resembled a blowout with a little green elf hat perched on top. How he never had to take a break during 
the middle of a battle sequence to maintain that perfectly groomed coif still escapes me.
If Zelda lived in the real world, he’d spend all his rupees on hair gel, and become a kleptomaniac stealing shit from the drug store, ultimately leading into a downward spiral of drugs and alcohol; realistically he’d probably just drink the hair gel. How much alcohol content does that shit have? 1.5%? I just realized that by reliving my teenage glory years, I’ve been playing this fucking game for over 3 hours… I can’t feel my thumbs.
36-23-36. At first glance that seems like a random 3-digit combo that might win big in that quick play 3 number game. Actually they’re the measurements of a recent girl I slept with, or should I say “fucked” in Manhattan. Yea, that sounds cooler, might earn 5 bonus street cred/hipster points by writing fuck. The only reason these digits are relevant is because Pamela Anderson’s body measurements in her prime were 36-24-36, so basically this girl had a 1” skinnier waist which made her ass look an inch bigger than Pam’s. Her face wasn’t that great, but once I realized the mathematical similarities there was no turning back. It was as close as I was ever going to get to having sex with Pamela Anderson. I tried to get her to wear a red bathing suit, but she wasn’t having it. Pam’s ass was pretty good, but the TV show was always about her bouncing tits. Baywatch rarely featured her running down the beach away from the camera, just towards it. I heard she recently auctioned off that red buoy she carried around on set. Not that I’d buy it, but shouldn’t it be donated to the National Lifeguarding Museum?
photographed by Ben DeCamp
photographed by Ben DeCamp