Tuesday, February 21, 2012

Richard Dawkins gets a haircut

Dawkins storms in, his visage inevitably angry.

“Hello, Richard,” offers the receptionist.

“I have a 12:00 appointment,” he snips self-importantly.

The stylist approaches. Dawkins sneers.

“I want it short. Abrupt.”


“Yes. Curt, if possible,” Dawkins spits. “I want flaps, indignant little flaps.”

“Militant, then?”

“No, not militant!” he barks. “I said indignant!”

“And I need to continue to be able to comb it back imperiously off my face.” Dawkins impatiently yanks a photo of Stalin from his pocket and shoves it at the stylist.

She looks at the picture. “So, would you like me to straighten the flaps?” she asks politely.

“No, you blithering idiot!” he growls, growing red in the face. “Leave them contemptuously tousled. They need to say, along with Cecil Rhodes, ‘Remember that you are an Englishman, and have consequently won first prize in the lottery of life’.”


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