As Alby is in transit, today’s song is all about me. Oh, sure, I might have been short-changed in the height department, and I might be one or two (or so) pounds over my ideal weight, but there is no denying my Samsonesque locks. Women have been remarking about my hirsute hotness for decades now. Only problem is, in a pandemic, the hair develops a mind of its own, and develops its own cul-de-sacs. Especially if you had the flu for Christmas, and you’re not feeling up to par. What to do, what to do? Well, I think about cutting it. Instead, I just let my freak flag fly. This is dedicated to all of you who are thinking about cutting it. Don’t:
