Invasion of the Hair Follicle Snatchers

Do you like conspiracy theories?  Well, I have one for you.

I turned 60 in 2015.  At that exact moment, my hair was invaded by aliens.  These microscopic interstellar motherfuckers now inhabit the hair on the left side of my head parallel to my ear.

“Oh, Kat,” you might say.  “Have you been smoking crack?”

Or maybe, “Kat, if you have any spare hallucinogens, I could sure use some because I’ve had a rough day.”

I might reply, “Why do I hang out with drug addicts?”

More likely I’ll shriek, “Look at this fucking wave that wasn’t here before I turned 60!  Look at it!”

If you bother to look instead of edging out the door, you’ll see what I mean.


These are the aliens who really need deporting.


I’ve had at least four haircuts in the last year and a half and through no fault of multiple stylists; each one looked like I slept on my left side while using a plate full of butter-loaded syrupy pancakes as a pillow.

On payday instead of calling NASA’s Alien Removal Unit I called poor Amber.

I really like her.  She laughs at my jokes.  (Why wouldn’t she; I’m hilarious.)  She told me that people who hate people gravitate to her.  Cue Kat to plop her fat ass down in Amber’s chair.

I think this has been the third time Amber tried to keep my hair shoulder length while dealing with aliens; not to mention a customer who hates to get a short haircut because it has to be maintained.

Her efforts were heroic, but the aliens’ evil genius bested her again.  If I happened to be their earthly guinea pig, they were succeeding.  Just imagine every woman on the planet getting a bad haircut on the same day.  We all know most men would say, “What the fuck did you do to your hair?”

Let the APOCALYPSE begin!

Amber might have helped save the planet by saying, “I so want to give you a pixie haircut.”

Of course, I’m the real savior of the planet because of my next words to her.

“Do it!”

My hair now looks better than the rest of me and all I have to do to keep the aliens at bay is rob the occasional bank or turn tricks to pay for all the haircuts I’ll have to get.

I can’t believe the government hasn’t given me a ticker-tape parade.  Ungrateful bastards.



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