Don’t be a Dopey McDoperson dolt. Do something before you destroy your life, because haircuts define you.

There was no denying it. Franklin Nathaniel Stein was a different man after a good haircut, for the good. Conversely, after a bad haircut, he was nothing more than a run-of-the-mill cantankerous curmudgeon. That was four months ago. Perhaps a coincidence, probably not, the man who butchered his hair, Vince Pattitucci, no longer lives and breathes.

Franklin’s stride was meaningful, each step, bold panache. The way his arms swayed to and fro, he was obviously a man on a mission, instead of his former lousy haircut guy loafing on the couch for days on end.

He was taking care of the “business”, which can easily be confused with “the business” which is, of course, taking that constitutional dump. This the “business” was taking care of the chores, the mandatory bucket list that comes with adulthood.

The first stop was Kornpaptroosthill Monuments to check on the progress of his tombstone. If there’s one thing you can control, it’s choosing how you’ll live on after you die.

The owner, simply named, Etch, short for Etchasketchopheles was his usual self, grim and attentive. Upon seeing Franklin, he disappeared into the back room and returned with a wheeled cart covered in a dingy baby blue blanket. He unveiled a Barrell Gray™ slate the size of 24 large human heads.

Etch cracked a smile, which triggered a burst of laughter. It had been a good twelve years since he felt such spontaneous joy.

Franklin frowned, and it made his face very uneven, like the left side of his face melted. It consequentially devastated a good haircut.

If it was a joke, ha ha, but if it was just for the sake of brevity, shame on whomever for not thinking the consequences through. The tombstone read: Asswipe!

What hurt the most, yet also proved to be hilarious at the same time was the inclusion of the exclamation point! As Etch continued to laugh, he fell to his knees just so he could officially pat his lap. Franklin looked at him with eyes of scorn. Revenge was all he could think about.