Guinea pigs barber eachother. apparently they are good at it, and have an eye for symmetry. I had a guinea pig once with lots of hair. His two cage mates took to it’s hair with fervor, a challenge placed, a gauntlet thrown.
Jaa ended up looking like a brick. Symmetrical.
Symmetrical and angry!
He was always a no nonsense pig, but being turned into a furry brownie did nothing for his demeanor. After that, it was as if he had something to prove
the barber took the knife sharply to the young man’s face. There he wept in agony, for the first time in his life he felt like he was really the man his father wanted him to be. Though he did not weep with joy, the pain in itself was uplifting and spiritual enough to turn any sane man.
barbers. well there are barber shop quartets, which my grandpa was in. Wow, he could sing! some of my favorite memories of him are when he was singing. He could always put a smile on my face with a chorus or two of “You are my Sunshine.” I miss you Grandpa
Who is a barber? Is he someone who just cuts hair for men? Or is there more to it than that? A woman goes to a hair salon not just to cut and style her hair, but to catch up on gossip. Do men go to the barber to not only get a hair cut and shape up, or to also catch up on sports and other manly things?
the barber of seville. figaro. just finished in french, like shakespeare she said — yes, that IS what she said, no not like that no. i like figaro. he thinks about things. some people just don’t think.
Griffin has a barber shop on the corner, right next to the buscuit shop my grandfather and I always went to. A butter biscuit with grape jelly, he would say. I gently unwrap the biscuit and hand it to him. He spreads the jelly all over both sides, and I gratefully indulge.
I remember my grandmother told me a story once about people who talk to her. Her name is Barbara, so when people are asking her how to spell her name, they say “Barbra.” So my grandma says, “No, only one woman spells her name like that in the whole world. It’s Barber-a.”
Red white blue swirls.
swiveling chairs and shaving cream.
the cool sliding scissors that slice your split ends.
The barber with the cunning grin and the gelled hair.
the pavement of dusty hair and broken cement
I haven’t been to a barber in…I don’t even know how long.
Is it weird that growing up as a girl, my parents would always take me to one?
Not a hairdresser, folks. A barber. One for men. For males.
Maybe that’s exactly why I haven’t been to one in so long.
Just so I can practice free will and go to a hairdresser’s instead.
There was this barber shop down the street from where I lived. I would walk past it every day and see the people inside. From old to young, there were always stories being shared with one another, and new memories being created. I think one day I will stop by and just… you know, get a hair cut
the barber’s name is fred and he is a friendly black man… he has a huge wart on the end of his ring finger… customers sometimes are disgusted by this wart… he calls his wart pete… later in his career, fred ran out of thoughts and had to stop making sense.
hey, thats neat, today’s word is barber, a word which is commonly although mistakenly thought to by synonymous with hairstylist. we hairstylists do much better work than barbers.
i think of the men back then that used to go to the barber to get their hair done. not only did they get their hair cut they also got their beards and mustaches shaved with nice and sharp razors. today men still go to their barbers but it is rare that they get a nice fresh shave at the barber. the symbol outside of the barber shop originated from post war times.
barber cut hair and they like to gossp alot and usually old men go to barbers and u usually dont see women there bc women go to ahir stylists. barbers are more for the 50’s but i see a few barbers out now. and the one sign athat u see is the red white and blue stripes!
Come into the barber shop. You can’t lick your lollipop-
here. He’s handed a napkin. cover your chin.
We’ll see what we can do, you’ll leave with a grin!
The only barber that I need is one that will give a good shave to the all over head. I think that the barber should make a come back. Like a good western where the good guy beats the villain-the barber beats the beards.
She flipped through her magazine and lifted her chin higher to ease the discomfort in her neck. “Stay still,” the barber said, his voice a whistle coming through a toothless mouth. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
She flipped through a magazine and lifted her chin up in an attempt to ease some of the discomfort in her neck. The barber pressed his fingers on her scalp. “Stay still,” he said in a sibilant voice. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
There was once a barber on Dreadlock street. He had golden hair and his eyes were like ice. A sharp tongue and rough hands defined him. He truly knew his work; he was the best anyone had ever seen.
Barbers cut your hair. But my haircut is really interesting, and I want it to be done in a particular way, so it’s hard to tell a barber what to do. So you know what? I was like, “screw this, I’m cutting my own hair.” So I got a razor comb and it’s actually not that hard. With my haircut, you can’t mess it up too bad because it’s shaggy. My boyfriend likes to ruffle my hair all the time. :P
I love my barber named angelo. He gave me this awesome haircut where I had beautiful bangs and marshmallow hair. He loves hip glasses with neon colors on it. He’s a bit overpriced, though. Hmph.
Nowadays, all people ever want to do is visit a beauty salon…or a hair dresser. Has society really gotten to that point where all we care about is beauty?
is that really wall we want? what happened to the traditional settings of so long ago/ what ha
the barber makes me think of mustaches. and mustaches quite frankly are awesome. they make me happy. if i were a dude, i would have a mustache, because all great men have mustaches. but i’m a girl, so quite frankly i don’t see this working out too well. which is sad because mustaches are legit.
I think of elderly gentlemen sitting inside a barber shop, looking through large crystal clear windows. I picture the red and blue stripes spinning outside the door. I picture laughter and smiles.
The barber walked slowly across the parlor. Today was not his day and the last thing he wanted to deal with was the man sitting in the chair. He grabbed his scissors and his comb but really he wanted to grab the razor. Take it to himself? The man? He didn’t care. Alas, though, he succumbed to his life’s passion and asked the man methodically,
I have only ever gone to a single barber in my entire life. He is not a good barber, at least so I’m told, but I would go there with my father when I was a kid, and then when I was a young man, and briefly, before he died, when I might call myself reasonably a man. Why are these habits meaningful and worth keeping to? It’s just hair.
An old man strolled into a barber shop to get his hair cut. Upon entering he noted blue and red stripes, spinning outside the door. He walked in, and was surrounded by other elderly gentlemen laughing and snipping hair. He put on an apron and sat down in the chair.
“You can’t get your hair cut,” said the barber. Of course, how little he knew of what I could or couldn’t do, whether he felt it proper or not. I retorted, insisted I could do whatever I wanted without his permission. It was then that he pointed to the sign in the window: NO GIRLS ALLOWED.
bsrbers are scary. they are usuall old guys who look a little crazy with access to very sharp scissors. I tremble a litle when I send one of my sons to the big leather chair and place their necks in the hands of a very old man with shaky hands and a sinister grin.
barbers cut hair, i think they shave faces as well. my dog is being naughty and it is causing a major distraction to my minute of writing. oh well. i suppose i should teach her some discipline, but it is hard to do when you’re a high school student. high school is super shitty. i really hate school in general, but hey
The barber decided to tell me to go bald, since I had little hair left anyways. But how could I cut these few strands of hair? My hair was my life. Now, it was going to be cut by this insolent barber. How dare he even suggest this idea. I shall refuse, but then again, I may look better bald. I look old with this balding hair. These damned genetics. What should I choose? To go bald, or to keep my hair and refuse the barber’s offer?
You go here to get your hair cut. This is a place for mostly boys and men but girls can go too, I guess. The barber is the person who cuts your hair. It is usually a man. He uses scissors- no duh.
“The Barber of Seville, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street – I tell you, barbers have gotten a bad rap.” Mr. Mitchell sharpened his straight razor on the leather strip. “It’s like they think we’re all murderers who will slash your throat as soon as look at you.” Now, he checked the edge. It glinted starkly in the pale light of the room. “Really,” he placed the razor against Mr. Hawthorne’s neck. “If I wanted to kill the man who was sleeping with my wife, I would find a more expedient, less traceable way to do it. By the way, Mr. Hawthorne,” Mitchell smiled faintly. “How did you enjoy your complimentary tea?”
He is a man who cuts hair. He takes the razor and slices off the beard. He loves to recreate a mans image and is always ready for a new customer to sit down in his chair and share the problems he may be facing. He loves interacting and his job is the perfect way to do it. He loves people.
I go to the barber to have my hair temporarily removed from my head. The hair falls to the ground in an elegant, poetic fashion. The hair is swept up and put in the trash. Where does all that hair go to? And then in a couple months i do it again.
Guinea pigs barber eachother. apparently they are good at it, and have an eye for symmetry. I had a guinea pig once with lots of hair. His two cage mates took to it’s hair with fervor, a challenge placed, a gauntlet thrown.
Jaa ended up looking like a brick. Symmetrical.
Symmetrical and angry!
He was always a no nonsense pig, but being turned into a furry brownie did nothing for his demeanor. After that, it was as if he had something to prove
A purveyor of gentlemen’s anachronistic styles, the landscaper of the human visage. The last of a proud tradition, and sort of silly.
the barber took the knife sharply to the young man’s face. There he wept in agony, for the first time in his life he felt like he was really the man his father wanted him to be. Though he did not weep with joy, the pain in itself was uplifting and spiritual enough to turn any sane man.
barbers. well there are barber shop quartets, which my grandpa was in. Wow, he could sing! some of my favorite memories of him are when he was singing. He could always put a smile on my face with a chorus or two of “You are my Sunshine.” I miss you Grandpa
Who is a barber? Is he someone who just cuts hair for men? Or is there more to it than that? A woman goes to a hair salon not just to cut and style her hair, but to catch up on gossip. Do men go to the barber to not only get a hair cut and shape up, or to also catch up on sports and other manly things?
oh baby barber bah bah baran goodness gracious. I like barbers because it sounds old fashion like driving a Model T or something.
the barber of seville. figaro. just finished in french, like shakespeare she said — yes, that IS what she said, no not like that no. i like figaro. he thinks about things. some people just don’t think.
Griffin has a barber shop on the corner, right next to the buscuit shop my grandfather and I always went to. A butter biscuit with grape jelly, he would say. I gently unwrap the biscuit and hand it to him. He spreads the jelly all over both sides, and I gratefully indulge.
I remember my grandmother told me a story once about people who talk to her. Her name is Barbara, so when people are asking her how to spell her name, they say “Barbra.” So my grandma says, “No, only one woman spells her name like that in the whole world. It’s Barber-a.”
Red white blue swirls.
swiveling chairs and shaving cream.
the cool sliding scissors that slice your split ends.
The barber with the cunning grin and the gelled hair.
the pavement of dusty hair and broken cement
I haven’t been to a barber in…I don’t even know how long.
Is it weird that growing up as a girl, my parents would always take me to one?
Not a hairdresser, folks. A barber. One for men. For males.
Maybe that’s exactly why I haven’t been to one in so long.
Just so I can practice free will and go to a hairdresser’s instead.
There was this barber shop down the street from where I lived. I would walk past it every day and see the people inside. From old to young, there were always stories being shared with one another, and new memories being created. I think one day I will stop by and just… you know, get a hair cut
the barber’s name is fred and he is a friendly black man… he has a huge wart on the end of his ring finger… customers sometimes are disgusted by this wart… he calls his wart pete… later in his career, fred ran out of thoughts and had to stop making sense.
hey, thats neat, today’s word is barber, a word which is commonly although mistakenly thought to by synonymous with hairstylist. we hairstylists do much better work than barbers.
i think of the men back then that used to go to the barber to get their hair done. not only did they get their hair cut they also got their beards and mustaches shaved with nice and sharp razors. today men still go to their barbers but it is rare that they get a nice fresh shave at the barber. the symbol outside of the barber shop originated from post war times.
barber cut hair and they like to gossp alot and usually old men go to barbers and u usually dont see women there bc women go to ahir stylists. barbers are more for the 50’s but i see a few barbers out now. and the one sign athat u see is the red white and blue stripes!
Come into the barber shop. You can’t lick your lollipop-
here. He’s handed a napkin. cover your chin.
We’ll see what we can do, you’ll leave with a grin!
The only barber that I need is one that will give a good shave to the all over head. I think that the barber should make a come back. Like a good western where the good guy beats the villain-the barber beats the beards.
Sweeny swung the razor. Farewell, sir.
black people
nappy headed
coco butter
hair cut
braided
cornrows
money
family business
fades
taper
combs
clippers
sissors
She flipped through her magazine and lifted her chin higher to ease the discomfort in her neck. “Stay still,” the barber said, his voice a whistle coming through a toothless mouth. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
Too bad he was only used to attending men.
Walk into my barber shop- he says with a smile, in idlewild.
Come walk in my store! Watch me shave my head.
She flipped through a magazine and lifted her chin up in an attempt to ease some of the discomfort in her neck. The barber pressed his fingers on her scalp. “Stay still,” he said in a sibilant voice. “I know exactly what I’m doing.”
Too bad barbers attend men, and not women.
There was once a barber on Dreadlock street. He had golden hair and his eyes were like ice. A sharp tongue and rough hands defined him. He truly knew his work; he was the best anyone had ever seen.
Barbers cut your hair. But my haircut is really interesting, and I want it to be done in a particular way, so it’s hard to tell a barber what to do. So you know what? I was like, “screw this, I’m cutting my own hair.” So I got a razor comb and it’s actually not that hard. With my haircut, you can’t mess it up too bad because it’s shaggy. My boyfriend likes to ruffle my hair all the time. :P
I love my barber named angelo. He gave me this awesome haircut where I had beautiful bangs and marshmallow hair. He loves hip glasses with neon colors on it. He’s a bit overpriced, though. Hmph.
It’s funny that barbers harldy exist anymore.
Nowadays, all people ever want to do is visit a beauty salon…or a hair dresser. Has society really gotten to that point where all we care about is beauty?
is that really wall we want? what happened to the traditional settings of so long ago/ what ha
the barber makes me think of mustaches. and mustaches quite frankly are awesome. they make me happy. if i were a dude, i would have a mustache, because all great men have mustaches. but i’m a girl, so quite frankly i don’t see this working out too well. which is sad because mustaches are legit.
I think of elderly gentlemen sitting inside a barber shop, looking through large crystal clear windows. I picture the red and blue stripes spinning outside the door. I picture laughter and smiles.
The barber walked slowly across the parlor. Today was not his day and the last thing he wanted to deal with was the man sitting in the chair. He grabbed his scissors and his comb but really he wanted to grab the razor. Take it to himself? The man? He didn’t care. Alas, though, he succumbed to his life’s passion and asked the man methodically,
“How short?”
I have only ever gone to a single barber in my entire life. He is not a good barber, at least so I’m told, but I would go there with my father when I was a kid, and then when I was a young man, and briefly, before he died, when I might call myself reasonably a man. Why are these habits meaningful and worth keeping to? It’s just hair.
An old man strolled into a barber shop to get his hair cut. Upon entering he noted blue and red stripes, spinning outside the door. He walked in, and was surrounded by other elderly gentlemen laughing and snipping hair. He put on an apron and sat down in the chair.
“You can’t get your hair cut,” said the barber. Of course, how little he knew of what I could or couldn’t do, whether he felt it proper or not. I retorted, insisted I could do whatever I wanted without his permission. It was then that he pointed to the sign in the window: NO GIRLS ALLOWED.
bsrbers are scary. they are usuall old guys who look a little crazy with access to very sharp scissors. I tremble a litle when I send one of my sons to the big leather chair and place their necks in the hands of a very old man with shaky hands and a sinister grin.
barbers cut hair, i think they shave faces as well. my dog is being naughty and it is causing a major distraction to my minute of writing. oh well. i suppose i should teach her some discipline, but it is hard to do when you’re a high school student. high school is super shitty. i really hate school in general, but hey
The barber decided to tell me to go bald, since I had little hair left anyways. But how could I cut these few strands of hair? My hair was my life. Now, it was going to be cut by this insolent barber. How dare he even suggest this idea. I shall refuse, but then again, I may look better bald. I look old with this balding hair. These damned genetics. What should I choose? To go bald, or to keep my hair and refuse the barber’s offer?
You go here to get your hair cut. This is a place for mostly boys and men but girls can go too, I guess. The barber is the person who cuts your hair. It is usually a man. He uses scissors- no duh.
“The Barber of Seville, the Demon Barber of Fleet Street – I tell you, barbers have gotten a bad rap.” Mr. Mitchell sharpened his straight razor on the leather strip. “It’s like they think we’re all murderers who will slash your throat as soon as look at you.” Now, he checked the edge. It glinted starkly in the pale light of the room. “Really,” he placed the razor against Mr. Hawthorne’s neck. “If I wanted to kill the man who was sleeping with my wife, I would find a more expedient, less traceable way to do it. By the way, Mr. Hawthorne,” Mitchell smiled faintly. “How did you enjoy your complimentary tea?”
He is a man who cuts hair. He takes the razor and slices off the beard. He loves to recreate a mans image and is always ready for a new customer to sit down in his chair and share the problems he may be facing. He loves interacting and his job is the perfect way to do it. He loves people.
I go to the barber to have my hair temporarily removed from my head. The hair falls to the ground in an elegant, poetic fashion. The hair is swept up and put in the trash. Where does all that hair go to? And then in a couple months i do it again.