Why my head is so big

It's not my head, really. It's more a matter of the hair.

Have you seen my hairstyle lately? Well, probably not, if you haven't been within the borders of South Korea in the past day. This week I'm trying the "sexually questioning Chelsea underground nightclub groupie" hairdo. I bought special sculpting lotion to keep it just so.

I've discovered that whenever I change my 'do -- which is every time I rediscover myself, which is after every new episode of Korean Idol on TV -- I find myself subtly changing to fit the look. Why, my personality is so malleable that I can be a closeted metrosexual one week, a homo-pretending exploitative straight guy the second week, and a retro queer with a penchant for high school girls the next. I'm unstoppable!

Hmm. My latest 'do is flaking a bit. I'd better peruse the next issue of Vanity Fair for hair hints. I guess the only direction I can go with the next cut is toward my scalp. I wonder what I'll do when I run out of hair to play with? (Shall I consult my materials science textbook?)

I suppose that would leave me with just my head. Me, my head, and I. My big ol' head. My mom (while spanking me with a broom) once said that my head was the same size as it is now when I was born. I know all the laws of elasticity by heart, but that sounds pretty painful.

In any case, I don't need any more head. That's enough for me! My, that's quite a breeze. I hope my chest toupee doesn't get too ruffled.