Barbers, Talking dogs and Thieves

I’ve told you before how hard it is to find someone in prison who actually knows how to cut hair. Yeah, the guy in the cell next to mine just had his hair cut; you remember how in the old days when people couldn’t afford to go to the Barber Shop, or people who lived out on a farm and didn’t have access to a barber, would just put a bowl on top of a kids head and cut around it? Yeah well that looks like a professional job compared to what my neighbor is wearing! It’s so bad I heard someone tell him yesterday that for ten dollars they’d kill whoever cut his hair like that! Man, he’s been getting ragged on. Yeah, a good prison barber’s harder to find than a talking dog. That reminds me of a joke I heard.

A guy’s driving down the street when he sees a sign saying “Talking Dog For Sale.” So he stops and knocks on the door. An old man opens the door and says “Can I help you?”
The guy says “Yeah, I want to inquire about that talking Dog.”
The old man invites him in; they sit down, and the old man says “What do you want to know?”
So the guy rubs his chin, then in a disbelieving manner answers, “Well, I aint never heard of such a thing. I mean a talking dog! That sounds to good to be true!”
The old man shakes his dead, then whistles and hollers “Ben, get in here.”
A few seconds later this ol’ yellow dog walks in the room and sits down in front of the man. The old man looks at him and says, “Ben tell this here man a little bit about yourself.”
So the ol’ dog looks at the new-comer and says “Well, I volunteer over at the local Fire Station, and last year I ran into a burning apartment building and rescued a family of five. Before that I was in the army over in Iraq – you know, I was sniffin’ out bombs and such. I was actually the one who sniffed out the hole that Sadaam Hussein was hiding in. Even as a pup I knew I was different then most other dogs so I used to sit outside the window of the local University; that’s how I learned advanced mathematics.. in fact at seven I wrote a thesis on the mathematical probabilities of a multiple-universe theory, and, well, I guess you could say that I’ve had an interesting and productive life.”

When the dog finished telling his story the men sat n silence for a few seconds, then the young guy blurts out – “That’s friggin amazing! why the hell would you sell a dog like him?”
“Cause he’s a damn Liar!” blurts out the old man. “He aint done none of that stuff!!!”

Ok, you got me, it was me making fun on my neighbors hair! I confess. And I know that I promised I’d try hard to quit makin’ fun of folks …

Anyway back to the issue at hand, prison barbers. I told y’all awhile back how I went three years without a haircut just to keep from hurting the feelings of my, at the time, cellie, who was the barber on that yard. Yeah, every schmo who’s ever trimmed his pubes thinks he’s a barber – and under some bastard criteria, I aint never understood, somehow ends up workin’ in the prison barber shop. What ever.

I had a good barber here for awhile, a guy everyone called “Five” well, not too long ago, him and another fellow got tripped up on the basketball court and, Five, ended up paralyzed from the waist down. Yesterday I heard that his homeboys stole all his stuff when they took him out in the ambulance.

The only thing harder to find in prison than a good barber – I guess, is a good friend.

Peace Be With Y’all

Three Rivers, 6-22-18