In defense of having hair

It was the summer of 2001. I was 13 years old. There was nothing unusual about this particular summer. I spent the days jamming out to Peter Gabriel’s Passion and playing with my pecker nonstop. These were innocent times mind you, before the tragedy that befell us that September.

But on one afternoon, I ran a comb through my hair. I’m not sure why. Those days I had long luscious red locks that often resulted in bullying on the school bus. No one liked gingers. Not now, not then. But on that hot summer afternoon, a large clump of hair fell out my hairline.

Sure, there was a small panic. But I went about my day not thinking much about it. Little did I know that, to steal a joke from Red Letter Media like I’ve done so many times in this blog, this would be the second worst thing to happen in 2001.

My hair was never the same after that. As the years rolled on, my hairline slowly rolled back. The crown of my head became completely bald and there was nothing, not a goddamn thing, I could do about it.

Sure, people comforted me. They’d say shit like “oh but it’s not a big deal!” but you know what? It is to me. It ain’t easy being a bald redhead. Just ask that sex pervert Louis CK.

For years I played it cool. But deep down I held deep resentment towards myself and the genetic lottery that let me down. Slowly, I plotted my revenge. Finally when 2024 rolled around, nearly 23 years after those first strands fell out of my head, I knew it was time. I was in the middle of a divorce, my career was careening towards a dead end, and my bank account was nearly wiped. So I did the only thing I could do: I called up HairClub for Men.

“HairClub for Men, this is Jeremy Piven,” the receptionist said.

“Jeremy, NOW’S the time I will have my vengeance!” I declared.

“Let me get you scheduled for a consultation,” he said.

So I went in and the consultant looked at my hair. “Biology is the biggest bitch in the universe,” she said. “The only thing worse than going bald is being lit on fire.”

“Agreed,” I replied, “but what can be done about it?”

The consultant fueled her brow and shook her head. “Not much, I’m afraid,” she said, “but as St. Augustine said, there’s nothing in the world that money can’t fix. So are you prepared to fork over half your salary for the next three years?”

“Whatever it takes,” I said.

And now, one month later, the universe has been made whole by giving me back a full head of hair.

Many laughed. Many said, “weren’t you that bald bastard with that shitty blog?” And I hold my head up high and say “you’re damn right I am! But now I run a shitty blog WITH hair!”. And that always stuns them into silence.

So thank you HairClub. Thank you Jeremy Piven. Thank you for giving to me what nature couldn’t.