once upon a time, there was a barber. his name was ted. ted wasn’t a smart guy. he wasn’t a guy at all. he wasn’t even a really good barber, not with tony down the road. that guy is insane. ted felt bad… he really envied this newcomer. so… he did what anyone would do. he turned to murder.
I used to go to the Barber with my daddy and brother to get their haircuts. I remember his name was Paul. The hair cuts were 9 dollars I think and we always gave him a tip. The TV was always on the sports channel and it was usually football.
There was something so indescribable about his face. Maybe it was the face he never smiled, or maybe, more than anything, it was that giant caterpillar of a mustache that sat above his smile-less lips. More than anything the smile of his breath meant something was coming off the top, and no one was to be sure it was hair.
I walked into the barber shop today, originally wanting to get a hair cut. But before I left that day, my life was turned upsidedown. The barber brought his daughter in and she showed me the world in a new way. How the simplest things could be marvelous and new.
I walked into the barber shop, ready to let go. This hair held loosely in a ponytail holder at the nape of my neck was the cumulation of a year’s worth of growth and development that I was ready to let go of.
I sat down in the chair and told him to chop it all off. And so he did.
Another hair fell. He couldn’t save it. Disappointed, he looks back over his shoulder to his father. No one is there. A wave of unhappiness wipes over his face, this is the end for him. There will be no more snips or clips for this young boy with a dream. A dream of glory and sunshine. “Goodbye, my love.” He grabs the buzzer and goes to work.
Barbers. I often wonder what the world would be without these great men and women who sacrificially serve the world. People often write about superheros who are fictional but no one ever writes about these great characters who exist among us.
Barber. That’s how you spell it? Well okay barber it is. I think of barber shop. I just watched Jersey Shore and at the barber shop they were talking about this girl. Oh gossip. Barber shop is the perfect place to have that done. Well time is ticking you barber you.
The barber hummed quietly as he cut his customer’s hair. He pondered all of life’s mysteries, especially the dark ones. He compared himself to Sweeny Todd on more than one occasion, and yet, people still came to him on a daily basis. He loved his work but what he did behind closed doors would shock the citizens of his small town.
The barber sits back and examines his handy work. You can hardly recognize the man from before he walked it. He stands up and brushes the hair off of the man’s shoulders.
“All done. What do you think?” The man turns to look in the mirror.
“You did wonders. You and the rest of your team always manage it so well. I can’t even recognize myself.”
“I think that is rather the point Mr. Harding.” Harding smiles and then shakes the barber’s hand,
“Thanks Tom.”
“Always a pleasure sir. Where are you headed this time?”
“Top secret, but I can tell you it’s somewhere new. I’ve never been there before. I’ll bring you back a souvenir if you want.” The barber smiles.
“Much obliged sir. Pleasure doing business with you. Good luck.”
“Don’t jinx it Tom. I’ll pass my compliments on to the man in charge, you might be busy very soon.”
“Thank you Mr. Harding. Until next time?”
“Until next time Tom.” Mr. Harding nods and leaves the building, leaving the reformation crew to clean up the mess of giving him a new face.
Barbers. Barbers create beauty. If you have a vision, the barber can create that vision for you. Or, you can go in with a completely blank mind and the barber will create it for you. They paint on a completely blank canvas, and turn that blank canvas into a beautiful work of art made especially for you. Barbers are magic makers, painters, and beautifiers.
I remember going to the barber when I was little, with the big chair that I sat in as they snipped at my hair – bits and pieces of me falling to the floor and swept away by an attendant with a broom who didn’t care that I had just lost a part of me. The hair would grow back, but never exactly the same as it had been before.
You want to get your hair chopped off, sage-girl, and every time you mention it I flinch. Why lose that beautiful tangled hair of yours? It’s so much a part of you… who would you be without it, sage-girl?
But I guess it makes sense. It’s not just your hair that you want to lose… it’s your whole self.
But if you lose yourself, I’ll lose you too. And that’s what I’m afraid of.
Slowly, painstakingly, the barber dragged his sharpened razor over the man’s chiseled jaw. “Tell me again,” he said, deliberately, “tell me again what it is that you do.”
The man’s facial muscles clenched and he cleared his throat, twice.
“I’m a soldier,” he answered, nervous, though he didn’t know why.
The barber took his time responding and wiped away another patch of white cream with the cold blade. “And what is it that you fight for,” he said more than asked.
The soldier began to grow angry. He felt insulted, yet with the same persistent tremor of fear he couldn’t explain. He decided to remain silent, and waited in inexplicable discomfort for the comfort of his clean shave.
One day while I was visiting a new city in the west, I saw a beautiful window. I went to that side of the street and realized the window decorations I saw were in the window of a barber shop. I was very intrigued so I decided to stroll into the shop to see what the inside looked like. I went in and met the most handsome man I have ever seen.
red white and blue pin stripes . or that’s how i describe them. i always relate barber shops with those cylindrical things as an emblem of the past with people walking around with a penny coca cola in their hands.
“They call him Jimmy the barber.”
“why”
“because he’s a fucking barber genius. why do you think?”
“that’s it?”
“Yeah, that’s it. That and because he kills people with a straight razor.”
shop
i’ve always wanted to go the barber, but i am not a man. would they accept me if i desired a manly cut?
backwards equals rebrab, damn thats a good one, REBRAB or RABIZNAZ
zanzibar.
Scala, in Little Melville. He stayed open late for his special customers. One day he said that after work he was going to cut the grass at home. I thought how appropriate!
who I need to see, god I want that hair. that gorgeous pale lilac hair, and that cute as kittens pixie cut. I need a trim and a dye job and pretty lady barber, you’re going to help me get them! I’ll wait on the mohawk, I want that pretty purple pixie!
‘Its a barber shop quartet’
‘What?’
‘In the garden, its a barber shop quartet.’
Arthur released the bloody hammer and stepped over the bodies of his neighbours to peek out into the street.
‘Huh. Decent harmony’
Tommy and Arthur stood for a while longer before getting back to work with a pair of matching hacksaws, humming together tunelessly as they sawed limb by limb.
15 Minute ETA until flight departure. I pass a barber along the walkway. Barely make my flight as I take a deep breath in my seat: 23A. I wish I had stopped for a shave
I once knew a boy who went to the only barber shop in town to get his hair cut. He always got his hair cut extremely short, he didn’t like having it in his eyes. I loved that barbershop, the barber was his best friend. Sometimes I drive by there, because I miss him and those beautiful eyes I could always count on after his hair cut.
The woman could have been a bloody barber, the way she hacked at the cloth.
Eleanor Waldorf couldn’t believe how highly recommended this woman had come, as an intern – she didn’t even know how to do an overstitch!
when i think of barber, i immediately think about the hair stylist i have seen since i was five…i am now 22. there is something comforting about the idea of something staying constant in my always changing world. everything else might change, but not my barber. i love it.
The barber sat in his chair, the chair that should have had a client sitting in it, but no one had come in today. No one was going to come into today. Te barber just sat and watched his time and talent for beard trimming go to waste.
Barber shops are when men get their hair cut in to all sorts of funny styles. They can even go for a buffon, which is a womans hair style (oops i mean bouffant!) and it can look rather dashing on the rather ordinary type of man. Barber shoopsare usually full of sleezey greasey italian men who cut the hair.
Barbers are weird. They just cut hair. Does it entertain them? Is it as fun to them as singing is to me? I’d hope so scince they’re spending there life doing it. I wish they’d be good at it. Maybe barbers who give crappy cuts dont like their job. Maybe they’re not passionate about they’re work.
Barber shop poles. The old men who cut older men’s hair with the razors that buzz like tiny little bees. Their smiles form happy wrinkles and they share stories of their past together. It’s where they can all enjoy themselves. The barber get paid and the customer gets their hair cut. It’s a win-win situation.
When I went to get a haircut, the barber tripped over a rotten banana peel and slipped with the razor. It acquired its own movement and I now have a big load of chicken on my head. then I danced the flamenco and the barber joined me. It was a good time.
Yesterday I walked down 3rd street for a quick shave from my trusty barber named Mary. Mary is the only person I entrust my face to. The only other person I enr
With a delicately sharpened knife the barber began to skim the fur from my face. A bead of blood began to trickle down my neck from the small slice he carved into my chin.
The man looked in the mirror and straightened his tie. His wife stepped into the doorway to the bedroom holding a cup of fresh coffee in her hands.
“Your coffee Mr. Barber.” She said with a smile.
He turned to her and his heart skipped a beat. The sunlight from the windows washed over her pale skin and glinted off the silk dress she was wearing. They had been married 10 years, and he knew he was still the luckiest man in the world. He walked over to her and put his arm around her waist. They locked eyes and the world melted away. There was no need to say anything, their love was so strong that they could feel it in each other’s gaze. This was the definition of true love.
once upon a time, there was a barber. his name was ted. ted wasn’t a smart guy. he wasn’t a guy at all. he wasn’t even a really good barber, not with tony down the road. that guy is insane. ted felt bad… he really envied this newcomer. so… he did what anyone would do. he turned to murder.
I used to go to the Barber with my daddy and brother to get their haircuts. I remember his name was Paul. The hair cuts were 9 dollars I think and we always gave him a tip. The TV was always on the sports channel and it was usually football.
haircut girls, old style the chairs, the old barber pole sign, old movies, clint eastwood movie, Jude barber shop in michigan
There was something so indescribable about his face. Maybe it was the face he never smiled, or maybe, more than anything, it was that giant caterpillar of a mustache that sat above his smile-less lips. More than anything the smile of his breath meant something was coming off the top, and no one was to be sure it was hair.
I walked into the barber shop today, originally wanting to get a hair cut. But before I left that day, my life was turned upsidedown. The barber brought his daughter in and she showed me the world in a new way. How the simplest things could be marvelous and new.
I walked into the barber shop, ready to let go. This hair held loosely in a ponytail holder at the nape of my neck was the cumulation of a year’s worth of growth and development that I was ready to let go of.
I sat down in the chair and told him to chop it all off. And so he did.
Another hair fell. He couldn’t save it. Disappointed, he looks back over his shoulder to his father. No one is there. A wave of unhappiness wipes over his face, this is the end for him. There will be no more snips or clips for this young boy with a dream. A dream of glory and sunshine. “Goodbye, my love.” He grabs the buzzer and goes to work.
Strands of hair fall on the ground as he works his tools delicately on his customer, as if they were shedding a part of their lives.
Barbers. I often wonder what the world would be without these great men and women who sacrificially serve the world. People often write about superheros who are fictional but no one ever writes about these great characters who exist among us.
Barber. That’s how you spell it? Well okay barber it is. I think of barber shop. I just watched Jersey Shore and at the barber shop they were talking about this girl. Oh gossip. Barber shop is the perfect place to have that done. Well time is ticking you barber you.
The barber hummed quietly as he cut his customer’s hair. He pondered all of life’s mysteries, especially the dark ones. He compared himself to Sweeny Todd on more than one occasion, and yet, people still came to him on a daily basis. He loved his work but what he did behind closed doors would shock the citizens of his small town.
The barber sits back and examines his handy work. You can hardly recognize the man from before he walked it. He stands up and brushes the hair off of the man’s shoulders.
“All done. What do you think?” The man turns to look in the mirror.
“You did wonders. You and the rest of your team always manage it so well. I can’t even recognize myself.”
“I think that is rather the point Mr. Harding.” Harding smiles and then shakes the barber’s hand,
“Thanks Tom.”
“Always a pleasure sir. Where are you headed this time?”
“Top secret, but I can tell you it’s somewhere new. I’ve never been there before. I’ll bring you back a souvenir if you want.” The barber smiles.
“Much obliged sir. Pleasure doing business with you. Good luck.”
“Don’t jinx it Tom. I’ll pass my compliments on to the man in charge, you might be busy very soon.”
“Thank you Mr. Harding. Until next time?”
“Until next time Tom.” Mr. Harding nods and leaves the building, leaving the reformation crew to clean up the mess of giving him a new face.
BARBER:what this means is that ‘doubt’ is what must be generated for an intelligent design to be considered to cross into existence.
Barbers. Barbers create beauty. If you have a vision, the barber can create that vision for you. Or, you can go in with a completely blank mind and the barber will create it for you. They paint on a completely blank canvas, and turn that blank canvas into a beautiful work of art made especially for you. Barbers are magic makers, painters, and beautifiers.
Look at the old guys
reading their papers
talking about sports,
not their wives.
A barber shop
is no place for wives.
I remember going to the barber when I was little, with the big chair that I sat in as they snipped at my hair – bits and pieces of me falling to the floor and swept away by an attendant with a broom who didn’t care that I had just lost a part of me. The hair would grow back, but never exactly the same as it had been before.
You want to get your hair chopped off, sage-girl, and every time you mention it I flinch. Why lose that beautiful tangled hair of yours? It’s so much a part of you… who would you be without it, sage-girl?
But I guess it makes sense. It’s not just your hair that you want to lose… it’s your whole self.
But if you lose yourself, I’ll lose you too. And that’s what I’m afraid of.
Slowly, painstakingly, the barber dragged his sharpened razor over the man’s chiseled jaw. “Tell me again,” he said, deliberately, “tell me again what it is that you do.”
The man’s facial muscles clenched and he cleared his throat, twice.
“I’m a soldier,” he answered, nervous, though he didn’t know why.
The barber took his time responding and wiped away another patch of white cream with the cold blade. “And what is it that you fight for,” he said more than asked.
The soldier began to grow angry. He felt insulted, yet with the same persistent tremor of fear he couldn’t explain. He decided to remain silent, and waited in inexplicable discomfort for the comfort of his clean shave.
One day while I was visiting a new city in the west, I saw a beautiful window. I went to that side of the street and realized the window decorations I saw were in the window of a barber shop. I was very intrigued so I decided to stroll into the shop to see what the inside looked like. I went in and met the most handsome man I have ever seen.
red white and blue pin stripes . or that’s how i describe them. i always relate barber shops with those cylindrical things as an emblem of the past with people walking around with a penny coca cola in their hands.
“They call him Jimmy the barber.”
“why”
“because he’s a fucking barber genius. why do you think?”
“that’s it?”
“Yeah, that’s it. That and because he kills people with a straight razor.”
shop
i’ve always wanted to go the barber, but i am not a man. would they accept me if i desired a manly cut?
backwards equals rebrab, damn thats a good one, REBRAB or RABIZNAZ
zanzibar.
Scala, in Little Melville. He stayed open late for his special customers. One day he said that after work he was going to cut the grass at home. I thought how appropriate!
who I need to see, god I want that hair. that gorgeous pale lilac hair, and that cute as kittens pixie cut. I need a trim and a dye job and pretty lady barber, you’re going to help me get them! I’ll wait on the mohawk, I want that pretty purple pixie!
‘Its a barber shop quartet’
‘What?’
‘In the garden, its a barber shop quartet.’
Arthur released the bloody hammer and stepped over the bodies of his neighbours to peek out into the street.
‘Huh. Decent harmony’
Tommy and Arthur stood for a while longer before getting back to work with a pair of matching hacksaws, humming together tunelessly as they sawed limb by limb.
15 Minute ETA until flight departure. I pass a barber along the walkway. Barely make my flight as I take a deep breath in my seat: 23A. I wish I had stopped for a shave
I once knew a boy who went to the only barber shop in town to get his hair cut. He always got his hair cut extremely short, he didn’t like having it in his eyes. I loved that barbershop, the barber was his best friend. Sometimes I drive by there, because I miss him and those beautiful eyes I could always count on after his hair cut.
The woman could have been a bloody barber, the way she hacked at the cloth.
Eleanor Waldorf couldn’t believe how highly recommended this woman had come, as an intern – she didn’t even know how to do an overstitch!
when i think of barber, i immediately think about the hair stylist i have seen since i was five…i am now 22. there is something comforting about the idea of something staying constant in my always changing world. everything else might change, but not my barber. i love it.
The barber sat in his chair, the chair that should have had a client sitting in it, but no one had come in today. No one was going to come into today. Te barber just sat and watched his time and talent for beard trimming go to waste.
Barber shops are when men get their hair cut in to all sorts of funny styles. They can even go for a buffon, which is a womans hair style (oops i mean bouffant!) and it can look rather dashing on the rather ordinary type of man. Barber shoopsare usually full of sleezey greasey italian men who cut the hair.
Barbers are weird. They just cut hair. Does it entertain them? Is it as fun to them as singing is to me? I’d hope so scince they’re spending there life doing it. I wish they’d be good at it. Maybe barbers who give crappy cuts dont like their job. Maybe they’re not passionate about they’re work.
Barber shop poles. The old men who cut older men’s hair with the razors that buzz like tiny little bees. Their smiles form happy wrinkles and they share stories of their past together. It’s where they can all enjoy themselves. The barber get paid and the customer gets their hair cut. It’s a win-win situation.
the cut throat razor was sharpened and ready to slice. this was no ordinary barber. hair cuts by trade, throat cuts by design.
When I went to get a haircut, the barber tripped over a rotten banana peel and slipped with the razor. It acquired its own movement and I now have a big load of chicken on my head. then I danced the flamenco and the barber joined me. It was a good time.
The barber’s cup that Johnny Nolan has designated for him was worn but Francie loved and treasured it anyway… and forever.
All I wanted was a shave.
Yesterday I walked down 3rd street for a quick shave from my trusty barber named Mary. Mary is the only person I entrust my face to. The only other person I enr
hair haircut scary knives shaving cream men
With a delicately sharpened knife the barber began to skim the fur from my face. A bead of blood began to trickle down my neck from the small slice he carved into my chin.
The man looked in the mirror and straightened his tie. His wife stepped into the doorway to the bedroom holding a cup of fresh coffee in her hands.
“Your coffee Mr. Barber.” She said with a smile.
He turned to her and his heart skipped a beat. The sunlight from the windows washed over her pale skin and glinted off the silk dress she was wearing. They had been married 10 years, and he knew he was still the luckiest man in the world. He walked over to her and put his arm around her waist. They locked eyes and the world melted away. There was no need to say anything, their love was so strong that they could feel it in each other’s gaze. This was the definition of true love.
Barbara the barber bought barbed wire.