I watch TV a lot and have no mind of my own. It’s kind of a chicken and egg scenario, not sure which came first, or consequently even which came second. I mean, what if there was a chicken, and then another chicken and THEN an egg? The philosophers don’t even wanna touch that one. Regardless of its beginnings, my situation stands as previously stated, and it leaves me quite vulnerable to television advertising or what the kids call commercials.
So, when a dapper, well-coifed man told me that he was using Rogaine to fight heredity, I was all like "sweet, let’s kick heredity’s tush." Because, not only are my dad and grandparents pretty thin on top, my older brother has what I’ll simply call a large and still-growing forehead. The battle lines were quite obviously drawn. Pretty soon heredity would bump into me in a bar and the inevitable brawl would begin. I needed to get some ammo, or I’d end up getting tossed through a large, easily-shattered glass window. And as cool as I like to think that would be, it would probably hurt.
The nearest drug store was in a bad part of town, not a place I would normally find myself. After getting there all right, I figured the trip home would be safe with my newly purchased Rogaine. I cut through a back alley and fifteen steps down, my shoelace snagged on a pussywillow. It was a marshy alley. Bending my lean frame over I reached down to correct the problem. "The bunny goes around the tree, um, and then it hops in a hole, arrgh." Stuffing my laces inside my shoe, I lamented the decline of Roos and rose to my feet… only to smack right into Heredity.
My head came right up and hit him in the chest, and I could tell right away that he’d been working out. Broad shoulders, thick neck, all bundled up in a really tight tee-shirt with the words "Mean Gene." I tried to stall while pulling my box of Rogaine out of the handy, comically small, plastic bag.
ME: Hey, what’s up buddy? How’re things going? Care for a pussywillow?
HEREDITY: I’ve come to take away your attractiveness towards females. Males too, actually, if you care about that sort of thing.
ME: Hmmm, that sucks.
HEREDITY: Yeah, the best part is I’m gonna take your lunch money too.
ME: Ouch babe.
HEREDITY: Well, that’s life.
ME: No man, Life is a cereal – or at least a board game. JERK!
And with that I hurled my box of Rogaine at him.
I looked on with confidence as it spun violently through the air. It clipped him on the left shoulder, hitting him so violently that a large dent was left in the cardboard. Victory was mine.
He then proceeded to step on the box and have his way with me. It turns out that I had not followed the instructions for use to the product’s specifications. If you see me walking around, feel free to console me and give me a hug. I’m 6’4, 185 pounds, with boyish good looks. And I’ll be wearing a hat.