MY BARBER II: SPIKE'S

The first thing I noticed about Spike's was that the walls were painted blood red, with the exception of a graffiti art mural on one wall and ton of playboy centerfolds plastered on the other. Four light bulbs hung from the high ceiling by long cords. In the back, there was the familiar buzz of tatt needles and quiet conversation.

It wasn't such a horrible place to get a haircut. They were playing The Clash on the stereo, so they couldn't be half bad.

Then I saw the butchers. Never before in my entire life had I seen such a menagerie of side show freaks! This joint made the Rocky Horror Picture Show look like Sunday school! There was a transvestite, a purple-haired lesbian, a leather-clad dominatrix, a rastafarian, and a goddamn pointy hat at the register. And they all stood there looking at me like I was some sort of alien. I started for the door, but then I saw something through the corner of my eye. I turned to see one helluva dish standing in the doorway to the tattoo area. She was a dead ringer for that blonde chick on 90120--not Tori Amos, the other one. Big blue eyes, cute little nose, fantastic ass, and legs up to her ears. SHE WAS A KNOCKOUT!

I stood there, completely gaga, knowing full well that I would probably return to this nuthouse three times a week for the rest of my life, even if I didn't need a haircut. She smiled and winked at me, and although that's a sure sign of mental illness, I was her slave for life.

I sat down and just watched her wiggle her little ass around the shop, my heart skipping a full beat with every step she took. Oh man o man o man o man.....

"Can I help you?" The depressed pointy-hat sighed from behind his sad little counter.

"Oh...um..Just a haircut," I answered, almost forgetting why I was there in the first place.

"Well, it will be a couple minutes."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

I went back to ogling the blonde and forgot about it.

Then suddenly, this little fairy wearing a mumu burst through the door and began to dance around in his barefeet. He flapped his arms like a big gay bird, ran a few circles around the counter, then made a mad dash towards one of the barbers. No one paid him any attention, so he sort of casually flitted in my direction. I grabbed a Playboy off the bench, opened it up to the centerfold, and held it in front of me like a shield. The fairy hissed and ran out the door.

This was no ordinary barber shop.

But I wasn't leaving. Hell no. Not with Blondie giving me a show not more than ten feet away. Man o man o man o man...

* * * *

About two years have passed since I first stepped into Spike's. Barbers have come and gone, and the girl of my wet dreams went and shaved her head and got her nose pierced. It was bound to happen. Wouldn't be surprised if she had tattoos, too.

HELL, WHY NOT JUST SMEAR SHIT ALL OVER THE FUCKING MONALISA? WILL THAT MAKE YOU HAPPY??

The place has become a little too weird for my tastes, anyway.

Anymore, I have to fight the fag sailors and trans-testicles just to get on the WAITING LIST for a haircut.

And the barbers are fruitcakes, too. Although I have come to know them all like the sick, twisted, sexual deviant retarded gimp brothers and sisters I never had, I feel it is time for me to move on. But I know I will always look back fondly on those wacky days at Spike's Barber Shop.

So here's to you, haircutting pansies of Spike's. May your pencils be as pointless as your lives...

Larry the Fairy: (NOTE: He *insists* that people call him that) Larry liked to wear a dog collar and a big pair of diapers with giant novelty safety pin. Around his waist he wore a gun belt with a pair of cap guns like you used to play cowboys and Indians with as a kid. As people filed in for a haircut, he would aim a gun at the ones he thought were 'ugly' and 'shoot' them.

Only guys with nice butts had a chance to get their hair cut by Larry the Fairy. Praise god for my big ugly ass.

Dominatrix Diane: Green hair, lots of black eye shadow, and leather from head to toe. She usually cut my hair. But a normal 10 minute head-shave would take about three hours the Dominatrix Diane way, 'cause every five minutes she would disappear into the back room for an hour. When she came back out, she'd have a powdery white mustache and a runny nose. The she'd plow into my skull like a psychopathic knife-wielding crack whore. Blood was spilt. Eyebrows and even ears were lost in the name of a good haircut.

Lollipop: Three-hundred pound human nightmare. Lollipop was known for her giant red afro and polka-dot gingham dress. She'd skip into the room singing, "Lolly, lolly, lolly!" and hand out erotically shaped lollipops.

When she cut your hair, she didn't turn your chair around, she'd turn your HEAD around until you'd hear something pop in your neck. Occasionally, she barked like a dog.

Raoul: I hate this guy. Major fruitloop here, kids. When I'd walk in the door, he'd whisper, "Hiiiiiiiii!!!". I'd go right to the counter and request a different barber...ANYBODY.

"Give me Lollilop, I don't care!"

I managed to avoid him up until about a week ago. All the other barbers went on dinner break, except for Raoul. I would have bailed, but my head was beginning to look like a cat curled up into a ball and died on it. So I swallowed my disgust and put my hair in Raoul's hands.

He didn't do so bad at first, but then this Asian pansy with bright orange hair huffed in and started yelling at him.

"YOU BITCH! WHY DIDN'T YOU CALL ME?"

"I..I was going to call you...I just got busy and..."

"LIAR! I...I CAN'T DEAL WITH THISTH PRETTHURE! I HAVE NEEEEEEEDSTH"!!

"Well MEOW!"

I began to violently dry heave.

The cat fight went on for several minutes, but Raoul managed to settle FiFi down and finish my haircut.

Well, sort of. I told him he was finished and left. I ended up finishing it myself with a disposable Bic at home.

That was the last time I ever went to Spike's. Like so many great bars I've known, it got took over by fairies and I had to ramble on.