"Dude! What happen'ed to your hair?!!"

Hey, eyes down here.
Eyes down here.
My choice of hair style, or lack thereof, does not give you permission to ogle my nogle.
For I am a gentleman. An individual. A human being. And all human beings deserve respect.
Hey, eyes down here.

No, I did not lose a bet.
I did not lose a bet.
In fact, if there was a wager - and I'm not saying that there was - if there was this alleged bet, who's to say that this doesn't mean I won? Perhaps this golden dome is evidence of a great conquest, a triumph, a symbol of victory!
I did not lose a bet.

Besides, it looks and feels like my real hair.
It looks and feels like my real hair: I can go swimming, skiing, and even ride my jet ski and no one ever knows that I'm a client. But, I'm not only a client, I'm also the President.
It looks and feels like my real hair.

Bald is beautiful.
Bald is beautiful in the eye of this beholder. You know, this beholder right here. The one with the pen, the paper, and the word processor. It is not a symbol of my political slants, my religious beliefs, and it is definitely not a way to get back at my parents or society. It's just me being me.
Me, being beautiful.

No, you can't touch it.
No. You can't touch it. That would be like me asking if I could run my fingers through your hair.......hmmm. Okay, you can touch it. But for God's sake, wash your hands first. This is my skin and there is nothing protecting it, or my eyes, from anything that you may have picked up during your busy day. As a matter of fact, this now just an extension of my face. Do you go around asking people if you can touch their face?
Well? Do ya'?

Yes, my wife likes it.
My wife likes it a lot. Come on, I'm not dumb.
My wife approves.

Yes, rubbing my bald cranium is good luck.
Very good luck. But really, only if your hands are clean.


Hey! Eyes down here.

-b2