Poor Man’s Science Fiction


When the mountain gorilla handed me his resignation
I thought that was going to be one less layoff we would have
to perform in accounting.

Boy was I wrong.

Boy, was I ever wrong.

Now the company is run by snakes.
Or should I say the “Snake Lord.”

Eventually, all haircuts became indistinguishable.
For both men and women. The “Snake Lord” did not discriminate.
We all looked like someone had placed a bow over our heads
and just trimmed around it.

We all looked like Moe from the 3 stooges.

The loss of the mountain gorillas made us sad as did our bondage
under the “Snake Lord”, but at least we could commiserate in our shared-hair-misery.

And within this shared-hair-misery lay our salvation.

We all made it through the winter and the next 3 winters.

When the first responders burned open a hole in the steel door with their
blowtorches their mouths fell open:

“Oh, my God you’re alive.”
“What’s with the f*cked-up haircuts?”


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