Growin' It Out for Cancer: Month 4

Yowza! That's some hair right there, ain't it? You'd have thought I'd just finished skating the third period against (and that's ah-gaynst, not uh-genst) Hamilton or Moose Jaw or Moncton with a coif like that. No, friends, that's just what my current 'do looks like after it's been gelled into place all day and I step out of a steamy, bubbling hot tub. Summer may be here already and Teresa's treatment may be nearing completion (yaaaaaaaaaaaaay!) but that doesn't mean the Growin' It Out For Cancer bandwagon slows down. Not as long as there isn't a single hair on her head...

Hi everyone. Chris here with another Growin' It Out For Cancer report, currently entering month 4. I know we forced you to wait a bit longer for this update than you've had to wait for the others (and judging by the amount of mail both Teresa and I have been receiving, you all are just chomping at the bit for another one of my hair posts), but believe me, it's well worth the wait.

As you can tell from this photo, we're inching closer (inching...get it?) to the mythical 3-inch mark, clearly the longest I have ever worn my hair. Honestly, some days I feel like Richard Marx when I'm brushing back my long, flowing locks after a shower. Other days, I feel like that homeless guy who lives under the Mission Inn Avenue overpass here in Riverside. It's the hair on the back of my neck that's really getting to me. That, and the hair falling down over my ears. Teresa says if I give it another half an inch, I'll be able to push my hair back behind my ears and slick it back like Sexy Ramon or my friend Frank Gutierrez, but I don't know. I don't think I'm swarthy or ethnic enough to pull off that kind of look (and all respect to both of those guys for being able to rock it and rock it well). I feel like if I slicked my hair back like that I have to start growing a goatee or a full beard, and to be quite honest, I just can't do that (not that I don't want to...I think I'm physically incapable of growing a thick, full beard or goatee. Honest, all the hair on my face is on my neck, and let's face it, neckbeard looks good on no man).

Fortunately, I may not have too much longer to suffer. Much like Big Brother when it sucked (first season...well, okay, that whole winter season debacle during the writers' strike was pretty heinous too) and American Idol (which in and of itself basically turned into a "who's hair do you like better" popularity contest), Teresa has elected to put the power in your hands. She's put up a poll which you can find to the right asking when you think I should finally get my hair cut. And don't worry; there will be pictures of that too (unless thanks to the Patriot Act, Homeland Security, the Smoot-Hawley Tariff, and Proposition 8 [ed. note: BOOOOOOOOOO!] Supercuts no longer allows you to bring cameras into their establishments). So please vote early and vote often. And might I suggest that you vote for sooner rather than later. Because the full force of this fully armed and operational White Irish Afro may eventually cause a shift in the earth's gravitational fields, rendering the moon off its orbit and sending the planet as we know it into horrible, burning, screaming, melting your flesh off catastrophe. Honestly, trust me, you don't want to see...

No, please, believe me, it's too much for you too handle.


No, seriously, I'm warning you. Stop. Turn back now. Before it's too late.


You really don't want to do this to yourself. Believe me. You've got to hear me. You're just going to...


Please...


Please...
















Okay, don't say I didn't warn you...















Behold and tremble before the WIFRO in all of its power

(Shut your eyes, Marion. Shut your eyes!)