Fear the mullet

I’m sorry about Wednesday’s column. It was honest, thoughtful and articulate – my name and mug shot should have never been put within a mile of it. Especially because I didn’t write it. Actually, my fellow reporter Jessica Lewis did. Our boss, however, wanted to conduct an experiment to see if an intelligent and meaningful message could be perceived as stupid and pointless if people thought it was coming from me. We’re still waiting on the results.

Speaking of results, with a quick shave, fresh coat of paint, half-way decent hair stylist, slight chest augmentation and a little attitude, don’t I make a damn fine looking woman? (note headshot above). A damn fine Beth Smith, to be exact. She’s the loving wife of Duane Chapman a.k.a “Dog the Bounty Hunter.” I impersonated her for Halloween. Although it was a challenge to keep the man-flood from spilling over the levy that was my one-piece stretch suit, I’d say Beth never looked better (It’s like they say; the thicker the ice cream, the sweeter the milkshake).



Her husband Dog, on the other hand, isn’t doing so hot these days. He recently got caught repeatedly dropping a racial slur during a telephone conversation. Now his television show on A&E is canceled and he’s in, well, the dog house.

It’s not his fault, though. Like so many renegades before him, he can blame his troubles – at the peak of his success – on the mullet.

What’s a mullet? According to a second-rate encyclopedia, a mullet “is a hairstyle that is short in the front, top and sides, but long in the back.” People describe them in a lot of colorful ways. For instance, one might say that a person’s mullet is “all business in the front and a party in the back.”

Dog has one of the fiercest and most complex business-party combinations on the planet. In fact, his hair is commonly referred to as “Fortune 500 up to bat, Mardi Gras on deck, and ‘Touch of Texas’ in the hole.”

So what does his mullet have to do with his current situation? Everything.

Mullets represent the duality of man. Good and evil. Dark and light. Under its spell, mulleteers can reach the highest of highs and then sink to the lowest of lows without reason or explanation.

Dog too rides this roller coaster. Like his mullet, Dog’s personality is offensive, yet endearing. Both have brought him fame and fortune. But, as in every mullet tragedy, his “one window-trailer shade” forced him to turn on himself when he least expected it.

How do I know all this? I’m no stranger to the siren’s song of the “Louisiana Lean-to.” I wore one my sophomore year of college. I lost a lot friends because of it. But being a loner feels all right when you’re addicted to your mullet.

Like any good drug, it makes you feel invincible at first. Like you can do things you normally wouldn’t be able to do. For example, one time I awoke standing up inside a bowling alley to cheers and a big celebration. Apparently, while I was in some sort of a trance, my mullet used me to bowl seven consecutive perfect games. Prior to having a mullet, I’d never bowled over a 75. That was pretty cool. But my life quickly went south. Always a peaceful person, by the time my “short and sweet” hit its full length I had already been starting fights in line at different gas stations and sizing up guys in bars and restaurants that were “staring at my girl,” even though I was purposely single (too hard to handle, too hot to hold). My family and friends eventually had an intervention. They were afraid I’d fulfill my promise to go over Niagara Falls in a demo-derby car so they shaved my head.

I had to hit rock bottom before I realized how treacherous the mullet could be. I hope dog realizes before it’s too late.

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