Karmudgeon first snipped my ponytail, which I donated to Bald Cancer Kids With Dashing Scalps, or BACKWARDS, as they had no requirement to delouse your hair before you sent it to them and as every prison camp survivor knows, delousing is a bitch. She then cut my hair with her new pair of scissors that, although less glittery, still got the job done. I think this was done so we could see the hair in stages, similar to how when I shave after allowing my beard to grow I like to go through various facial hair incarnations such as the beard-only “Abe Lincoln,” the long sideburn chops “Nashville” and the male Brazilian known as the “Soul Patch.” She then pulled out a Weed Wacker and ripped off my remaining hair in a way that produced more pain than even an Epilady could.

I figured I would look rather unusual, perhaps even demented, when the gift wrapping was torn off and my deformed box was revealed. To my surprise, I didn’t look half-bad when my bare scalp was liberated and both the ladies present said I looked hot, which made me think what any man would think in my situation: “Ménage?” What was more important to me than even the prospect of banging two chicks at the same time was the release of one more potential item of identity attachment; well, maybe not more important but on equal footing.

I took to my new skinhead like a duck to water. I joined a white supremacist group, wore only black leather jackets and high black boots (which at first were those waterproof rubber ones that I switched for leather Doc Martins when I found out the former was totally unbald of me), bought a bottle of Mr. Clean and watched a 24-hour marathon of Kojac starring bald super idol, Telly Sevalas.

[Tune in tomorrow for the final segment of this terrible tale–and for the “AFTER” pictures of a bald Swami X!]