When I was 12, life was much simpler. People wore jean jackets and parachute pants; they dressed in bright colors and had mustaches that weren’t ironic. I didn’t know what the word “gay” meant. I thought Boy George was just really fancy.
I liked to breakdance, but in order to be really good at that art form you had to wear your hair in a rat tail. It sort of looked like a little hair dick coming out of the back of your neck, but for some reason it made you dance better. My mom wouldn’t let me get the rat tail, so I sucked at breakdancing, which why I turned to drugs. It’s why all kids turn to drugs.
But now it’s like 20 years later and I’m free. My mom’s fascist rules no longer apply, So I drove down to Anthony’s Barber Shop and ordered up an extra large rat tail with extra flair, hold the judgement.
Here’s what happened: