S
swidders
The bald fact of the matter is that the crooks are behind barber-ed wire now.
Police
- Thread starter Steve
- Start date
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And Haircut 100
S
swidders
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Toupé or not toupé: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The stings and burns of outrageous shampoos,
Or to take arms against a sea of dandruff,
And by opposing end them? To dye: to perm;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural follicles
That wig is hair too, 'tis an abomination
Devoutly to be washed. To dye, to streak;
To bleach: perchance to dreadlock: ay, there's the rub;
For in that head of scurf what dreams may come
When we have washed away this frothy spoil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long hair;
For who would cut the fringe and neck of mine,
The colour's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised hair, the peroxide's delay,
The insolence of hair stylists and sideburns
That patient merit of the 70s perm takes,
When he himself might a riot make
With a bare bonce? who would rabbits bear,
To grunt and sweat under a new solution,
But that the dread of something after cut,
The undiscover'd hairdresser from whose salon
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those styles we have
Than fly to salons that we know not of?
Thus hair style does make idiots of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of chemicals,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their hairstyles turn awry,
And lose the name of fashion. - Sod you now!
The fair haired one! Gervais, in thy stylings
Be all my trims remember'd.
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The stings and burns of outrageous shampoos,
Or to take arms against a sea of dandruff,
And by opposing end them? To dye: to perm;
No more; and by a sleep to say we end
The heart-ache and the thousand natural follicles
That wig is hair too, 'tis an abomination
Devoutly to be washed. To dye, to streak;
To bleach: perchance to dreadlock: ay, there's the rub;
For in that head of scurf what dreams may come
When we have washed away this frothy spoil,
Must give us pause: there's the respect
That makes calamity of so long hair;
For who would cut the fringe and neck of mine,
The colour's wrong, the proud man's contumely,
The pangs of despised hair, the peroxide's delay,
The insolence of hair stylists and sideburns
That patient merit of the 70s perm takes,
When he himself might a riot make
With a bare bonce? who would rabbits bear,
To grunt and sweat under a new solution,
But that the dread of something after cut,
The undiscover'd hairdresser from whose salon
No traveller returns, puzzles the will
And makes us rather bear those styles we have
Than fly to salons that we know not of?
Thus hair style does make idiots of us all;
And thus the native hue of resolution
Is sicklied o'er with the pale cast of chemicals,
And enterprises of great pith and moment
With this regard their hairstyles turn awry,
And lose the name of fashion. - Sod you now!
The fair haired one! Gervais, in thy stylings
Be all my trims remember'd.
S
swidders
True. Definitely the highlight of my day
No sh*t, Sherlock?
This reminds me of when I was at my mates once, he doesn't live in the best of areas and he gets smackheads nocking on his door trying to sell bacon and shampoo.
He looked like he could do with something to eat and could do with washing his hair, he should have been using it not selling it!
He looked like he could do with something to eat and could do with washing his hair, he should have been using it not selling it!
police lice to catch'em red handed
you must have hair issuse, bladyheck
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The bloke who robbed Steve's store is called Tim O'Tei.
everybody is conditioned, to think that way
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