There's an old adage that warns against angering your barber during a haircut. I must have done exactly that during a recent trim. My problematic hair is defiantly kinky and oddly colored. I need a lot of it to mask my enormous melon of a skull. I'm not sure what I did to upset my longtime stylist, but I walked into the shop with an intentionally sloppy look and I left resembling a calculating psychopath. Ever since this disastrous encounter with scissors, policmen perk up and mothers grab children when I walk down the street.