Haircut

You clear your throat. "Do you think that we could see about a haircut and a shirt first? I feel uncouth," you confide to the squirrel.

"Oh, for Pete's sake!" moans the squirrel. "All right, but you're on your own after today." Before you can ponder how to sit down, a barber is attending to your unkempt mane, and a salesclerk from Bloomingdale's is measuring your upper torso. As the barber switches from scissors to a razor, the salesclerk holds up three different button-down shirts, each a different colour. You choose the green one, and minutes later, you are one stylish centaur. From a human perspective, at least. After all, there is no centauress nearby to give her opinion.

Written by Joey Liverwurst

You desire the company of the opposite sex.
Go west, young horse-man!

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