fleeting sleeting.

icy.
not just the glaring stares i get, either.
icy.
like the reception most of my jokes receive.
icy.
like the slip-sliding streets of this woodsly goodness.
icy.
like the best part of a frozen italian.
woooooooooord.
it's awful outside.
which is to say,
it is dope outside.
totally inclement.
i'll be taking 'er easy on the roadways today.
no sense smashing myself up before work, yeah?
yeah.
***********
y'know what's better than a receding hairline?
a big bald spot.
guess who wins in that case?
me, baby.
the champ.
i'm well aware of the foreboding my forehead foretells.
more like a six-head,
because it's definitely 50% bigger than it was
just a few short, sweet years back.
i could feel a chill on my melon, though.
in the back of my head,
y'know,
where the eyes should go.
(or at least some bushy eyebrows).
what i mean is:
i made the mistake of looking in the mirror yesterday.
what a dummy.
unless i'm growing in a new patch of skin-colored hair,
my father's father's father's long bloodline hairline
of accursedly shiny pater's pates
is destined to chrome up my dome.
F* my A*, duders.
how many bald werewolves have you ever seen?
me neither.
skallalbrechtson, ya'll.
bald albert's son.
that's me.
ya'll ever seen that guy from strapping young lad?
awwwwww, man.
how about that?!
maybe that duder is part klingon or some sh!t.
i dunno.
let's just hope that's not the look i end up rocking.
hard styles and soft scalps.
i got them jauns.
i'd better get a lot funnier and wealthier, and soon.
i'm pretty sure that the impending forsaking of my follicles
isn't going to make me any more appealing.
some folks can rock the patrick stewart/bruce willis look.
i'm pretty sure i'll be more along the lines of
ned 'the head' ryerson.
dang.
am i right or am i right or am i right?
broke, broken, balding, barbarian bard.
don't dream it, yeah?
be it;
never quiet, never soft.....