My Bald Head

                         Maybe this has happened to you, maybe not. I was looking at a picture of myself taken when I was a little younger. I had hair. A lot of hair.  It was long.  Like most young males of the species, I had plumage designed to attract the females, I had the appropriate look for the times I was hunting in, and I was occasionally successful, just enough to keep me at it. I didn't know very much about the blood sucking heathens that had already begun to steal money off  of us and call it taxes, I hadn't noticed yet that I was being raped, robbed and set up by a corporatocracy.  I didn't look resentful or angry or even pissed off about anything. I still don't look that way but I am. I promise, I am.
            I used to chuckle, maybe even snicker into my fist when I saw guys with their ponytails and bald heads. Then one day I saw the back of my own forty five year old head. By the great horn spoon!  I too had developed a patch of wrinkly eggshell with a squirrels ass sticking out of  it. Maybe once every ten years I actually see my ass or the back of my head, so I don't really know how long I'd been a hypocrite before I knew I was.
   I whacked it off immediately, I still stood for some things important enough to handle right away, and Jess kept the hairy appendage hanging on a wall or in a drawer or some damn place for a while. Maybe she was going to use it to make a little cap or a sock. Anyway it's gone now, I don't know where. Maybe it's not. Maybe it was me that kept it, it's foggy how it really was, but we had it around here.
           I used it to torture our cats we had then. Omar and Fat Boy. Catnip overdose, then, the hair. They shredded and foamed at it like it was me rubbing their bellies with "the glove" until the dope wore off and they collapsed. Sometimes I'd let them re-up, sometimes I didn't. It was the only control I've ever had over a cat. It posed no threat or formed any curiosity in either the dog or the fish that I could tell.
              Some girls liked it too, while it was still on me. It was always a good start, "It's so hot, could you braid my hair for me?" After thirty they'd heard it all before but the young ones might do it. It was always worth a try as it's always nice when you can get a young woman to rub your head. If an older one says yeah, you may be going places as well. It's always worth a shot, you never want to miss a shot, it'll bother you your whole life if you do..
          Well, now I have very little hair on top of my head, the sides are holding up alright, but the top is desert like and glows in the dark. A beacon for mosquitos and ridicule from arrogant young bastards who don't know whats coming for them, and soon.
     I better quit looking at pictures from the past. See what it does to me? I get all morose. It's better to forget and enjoy my treacherous old age. I won't get to look back on that though, will I?
                 Motherfucker.  No.  I won't.