In this picture, we can clearly see that something has scared the hair and it is beating a hasty retreat.
Prometheus, not to be outdone, has decided to keep the hair prisoner. Note, in the second pictue, that he's using illicit - though probably cheap - narcotics to "mellow out" the hair in hopes of forcing it to stay. But when you cut corners, you can't expect results. Maybe you shoulda spent the money for the good stuff, because...
Victory for hair! It has escaped! Notice the look of resignation on Pro's face. It's clear that he accepts his lot in life.
Or does he? Note the obvious plugs. But I notice something here. Johnny Rotten really isn't your Daddy, is he? I stand humbled and corrected. Johnny Rotten isn't your father at all.
He's your Mom. Elmer Fudd is your Dad.
Dear, sweet Harley Kwink...I'm madly in love with you. Marry me! We can go to Canadia. Or Boston or something. It'll be grand...You know the cookies are a given. They are ALWAYS a given. You could dump me tomorrow and you'd still get the cookies. Boston..shit, wherever dyke weddings were legalized. And where better to rub their little piggie noses in how bad they suck than right on their doorstep? What are they gonna do? Be jealous of you? Stare furiously at your tah-tahs? Not willingly give you cookies, but instead begrudgingly give you their cookies? Woman, time to wake up to the powers you wield - Uschi
