You Down With MPB? Yeah, you know me!

I have that damn some stuck in my head. It is only 6:30 in them morning, what the hell do I dream about that I would wake up with that song in my head? huh. Let us not explore that. Well, not right now anyway. You might wonder if you are down with MPB, if you knew what the hell it meant. Male Pattern Baldness, people. Let me tell you what I know. uh.... maybe I shouldn't be writing about something that I don't know anything about. But that's why God invented Google people!
This I will admit, although it is almost as embarrassing as the time I was told that chipmunks were NOT baby squirrels (which blew me away, I mean I was probably 17, 20 I don't know, at the time and I really didn't believe the person. In fact, I went home to confirm with my mom which resulted in further shame. You could just tell by the look on her face. The disappointment in raising an idiot daughter. The wonder of how science, how GOD could allow this person to be a result of the merging of DNA betwixt her and my father - both very intelligent hardworking people) ANY, back to the original admission which is that I can NEVER EVER tell when someone is wearing a toupee. TV makes it seem so obvious "check out that guy's rug!" It is not until the inevitable scene where the conductor takes a bow a the end of Beethoven's fifth, his hairpiece hanging on - barely - by a thread of glue exposing his baldness that I gasp in shock. That wasn't his real hair!??!?! Which is strange because I wouldn't call myself gullible by any means. I am downright suspicious about 85% of the time any given day as a matter of fact and that INCLUDES sleep time. It is just some brain malfunction.  Some bum ass synapse who won't get with the program. So I am, essentially, a toupee maker's dream.

Enter Stanley. Dorothy's scarlet letter of an ex-husband.

I mean - how natural does THAT hair look! He has me fooled. Of course, my memory is not the best - crack kills - so If I had only remembered Stanley from previous episodes, I probably, though not certainly would have been able to deduce that this is a "rug"

Exhibit A:

Well, now it seems kinda obvious, doesn't it? Is that even the same guy? Jesus. And check him out - rocking the Magnum PI stache! Loving it. 100%. Love you, Tom Selleck.

grrrr.

Oh yeah. Cultural relevance. OK, here we go. At the time Stan was rocking his toupee it was virtually the only option for men wanting to deceive others about the MPB. We have come a long way baby!

In 1986, minoxidil was introduced as a potential cure for MPB. a chemical which would either:
A. Give you sky high bloodpressure
B. give you a glowing crown of thick, wavy hair.


eh. I say it was probably a risk worth taking. But, as always 20/20 didn't agree with me.
http://articles.sun-sentinel.com/1986-08-10/features/8602170234_1_minoxidil-solutions-baldness-cure-balding-men

blah blah blah. We have the brief life and death of the spray paint solution.

Even I know this is a stupid idea. Though may be exciting for huffers. 

Hair club for Men. 

Some other crazy ass shiz.

But, most excitingly, is the surgical solutions! Who doesn't love surgery?!?!? 

Hairmax lazer comb. Sounds fast!

Scalp flap surgery.

Hair transplant surgery. Don't they pull hair from your butt and transplant it to your head? gross.

blah blah blah. I am even starting to bore myself here. 

Anyway, my point is this. As far as I am concerned men can just stay with the roadkill and glue, because I won't be able to tell anyway. Besides, the words "scalp" and "flap" just are not meant to be put together.

I will end today with this:

I was listening to a conversation about drugs "these days" yesterday. These conversations bother me. Oh, drugs these days! When I was young we like to poison our children in utero! With Thalidomide. But nowadays! Meth labs everywhere you turn! The newspaper boy riding his bike past your house, used syringes falling out of his arms as he speeds past. Eh. I just find it to be annoying. So I tune out. Until the conversation turns to bath salts. I imagine a tub - filled to the brim with bubbles filthy teenagers hovering over, snorting the bubbles with straws, collapsing on the fluffy bathmat with murmuring "calgon, take me away..."

I've heard that this is not with bath salts are, but have been too lazy to even google it. and THAT is saying something! Fin.