User:Everyotherusernamewastaken/My hair
Not to be confused with Hair.
My hair is an ancient secret passed down from word of mouth by Caledonian druids and metrosexual barbers. Having been sculpted from the sands of time and refined time and time again with special plastic apparatus, it was finally established as an official trademark in 1998, and today is a spectacle visited by millions, who make pilgrimage to it to watch the pent-annual hair cutting.
Being the UNESCO World Heritage site that requires the most maintenance, it not only needs cutting every 2-3 months, but also has applied a gel-like solution every morning (except on days it doesn't go out), the recipe for which is known only to its preservationist personnel and the VO5 corporation. Over the past decade, there has been much controversy regarding the application of the solution, as it makes my hair quite greasy. Some mornings too much of this solution is applied which leads to issues of self-consciousness when it is on the bus.
Conception[edit | edit source]
It is widely cited that my hair was conceived by the universe itself as it exploded at the beginning of time, and that its divinity breathed life upon earth to make our surroundings what they are today. For this reason it is perfectly excusable that it has split-ends, so shut the fuck up. My hair began a fragment of what it is today; it was in a beautiful yet understated light blonde that strikes quite the contrast with the delicious chestnut purée that we now see.
There is also an old legend that my hair was woven from the very same loom as were the hoary locks of Zeus himself. It is most likely for this reason that my hair sits among the Hellenic Pantheon, albeit somewhat awkwardly.
Political influence[edit | edit source]
Once known as "the crop that launched a thousand ships", my hair has turned political tides for years, dividing aristocrats and diplomats with its beauty and sometimes entangling them if it hasn't been washed in a while. One time this guy who I thought was my friend suggested that my hair looked like that of Bill Clinton, which is probably because it possesses the aura of a U.S. president, or because the bastard's colour-blind or something.