Bering Strait

Hello, and welcome to Pavlov’s Hair Conditioner, where we always leave you salivating for more. See, you get it? Pavlov? Conditioning? Yeah? Huh? Ha, ha? Whatever.

People tell me I look like Weird Al. In the past, I’ve gotten Jerry Garcia, and before that, even I will admit that I looked like Harry Potter. The former governor of Maine said I looked like… Harry Potter. In fact, he said, “You look like Harry Potter.” That would make it law, if not for the fact that the governor doesn’t make laws. I never saw myself as Jerry Garcia, but now I get almost exclusively Weird Al. Except for that one creep at the mall who said I looked a lot like his next girlfriend. Yeah, good luck with that. At least she’ll be outrageously handsome, albeit in a manly-man sort of way. A man’s man. Girl. Person. I don’t think he was well in the head.

I suppose I can see Weird Al, but my hair isn’t as funny. And by that, I mean that it doesn’t have a sense of humor. You see, Weird Al doesn’t do it all on his own. I mean, he is very talented, but no one can be as talented as he seems. So, where does the extra talent come from? His hair. His hair helps him write all those songs and perform in all those different styles. But sadly, my hair has no sense of humor. When I wake up in the mornings, it rears its angry head, refusing to conform to any known style. Once I wash it, it becomes more docile, but I don’t think the mass atop my head will ever be tamed.

I do, however, love my hair. I was walking down the street one day, and some guy in a car poked his head out the window and said, “Dude, I love your hair!” I guess that’s a compliment, but I would have felt bad had the solid mass of awesomeness I call my hair gotten this strange man into a car accident. One doesn’t usually stick one’s head out a window while operating a large vehicle.

Until next time, this is Xavier Yes. Stay classical.


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