So a couple years ago, my hair just up and quit on me. In my younger days I had a wild mane that was similar to Seinfeld’s Kramer.
It was preposterous, but at least it was a look dammit… it was something! Now my hair is a shell of its former self. It’s like some sort of Greek ruins where gravelly remains peek up from the dirt. I’m the tour guide assuring anyone who will listen that it was once the site of mighty aqueduct. Sad.
So when I see celebrities (hell, even friends) who still have all their follicles in tact, flourishing to levels of beauty unobtainable by me in my current state, I whisper to myself “I would _________ for lettuce like that.”
Such is the case with grey-ing lion George Clooney. Talk about having it all. George is an all time legendary Hollywood cocksman. He’s trekked the globe alongside super models and starlets. He makes more money doing a 30-second Nespresso ad than I will make in a lifetime. Not only that, but this is what his luscious locks look at age 55:
Would I drown a bag of kittens with my own hands to have his hair? No. Obviously not. I’m not some horrible monster.
Would I press a button that I knew led to a bag of kittens being lowered into some sort of kitten drowning device that would simultaneously give me George Clooney’s marvelous hair? You must think me an ogre if you believe I would.
But what about if these were elderly cats?…. Say animal shelter cats which were scheduled for termination anyway?
….. (thinking)….
Obviously, as with everything, the devil is in the details.
