I'm a hard-workin', hair-lovin' Stevedore (Local Union 15: "The Pumpin' Pompadours") who doesn't have the luxury afforded some Namby Pamby Trust Fund Babies (present company excepted) of waking up at the crack o' dawn to primp and fuss before headin' to the docks for 18 hours of gut-bustin', spine-crackin', heavy hoistin'. What's a blue-collar bub like myself to do?
I'm going to take a wild guess and assume that the "A" stands for "Asinine", because apparently you didn't read my Redken Award winning article in Gentleman's Cosmetology, Autumn issue: The Future in Hair Preservation Dome Technology for the Common Working Stiff.
Fork over the 79¢, and do yourself AND your hair a favor. Or, get out your magnifying glass and read it for free:
Oh Deer... I... I mean Dear. I completely forgot this photo shoot was during my short-lived, but heart-wrenching experimentation with Man-Cervidae Love. That little Reeve's Muntjac crushed my very soul when she ran off with Paul. I should have known better than to leave the two of them alone after that grass juice-fueled late-night Kismet tournament. They should call them "evil-toed", not "even-toed" ungulates, if you get my drift, Fellas. It's for the best. I've got my eye on a spicy little Mustelidae down the hall in 5B now!
Mr. Worthington III