When your Trichy gets Stichy…why, then, it is time to wash it.

I refer to the hair, that protective layer of keratin filaments that sits atop our heads. Except for that rare soul among us who has Great Farookin’ Hair – you know who you are – the amount of said protective layer has been diminishing for many of us who have attained a Certain Age. Nevertheless, even in diminished amount, it still requires a certain level of maintenance.

Unlike Scottish journalist Andrew Marr, a noted champion of the practice of leaving the hair unwashed, most of use like to wash our hair at least several times a week – or even daily. It’s not a complicated process. All you have to do is apply an appropriate surfactant (“shampoo”) which helps emulsify and remove the oily residuum that is naturally secreted by the scalp, along with any filth that said residuum may have attracted.

Most men are not too picky about the shampoo we use – unlike the ladies, who prefer to spend amounts on their hair care products that equate to the combined GDP of several African nations. Hell, I’ll even use those little bottles I find in hotels… when I’m not packratting them, that is.

The first shampoo I remember using, back in my Snot-Nose Days, was Prell. As far as I know, Prell is still around, though I haven’t seen it in years. I still remember its distinctive aroma, its bright green color. It used to come in a clear plastic squeeze tube, the better to show off the transparent emerald goop within.

I have no idea what was in Prell, but what I do remember was its ability to remove every trace of grease or oil from the hair – including the natural oils you wanted to retain. Washing your hair with Prell was like washing your hair with Naval Jelly. It was the perfect shampoo to use if you had just spent a month living out of doors, rooting through dumpsters in the back of meat processing plants for meals, without having taken Shower One. One squirt, a little warm water, and you’d be ready for dinner at the White House.

Needless to say, I do not use Prell anymore. A month of that stuff and your average Han Chinese would look like Carrot-Top on a bad hair day.

These days I’m partial to Neutrogena T-Gel Extra Strength, with the bracing aroma of genuine Coal Tar. I alternate that with Paul Mitchell Tea Tree Oil shampoo, which gives the scalp a lingering tingly sensation akin to sticking your head in a vat of liquid nitrogen.

What do you use? Ivory soap? Talcum powder? Or that Clairol Herbal Essence that gives the ladies orgasms from ten feet away?

It’s not often that one has the opportunity to speak with a living legend. It is my honor and privilege to bring you this transcript of a candid discussion with Jimbo’s Great Farookin’ Hair.

The Hair is notoriously reclusive, but we managed to tempt him out of hiding with the offer of a vintage Vitalis.

Elisson: GFH, you’re looking great, as always. How do you do it?

Jimbo’s Great Farookin’ Hair: Aw, ya don’t hafta butter me up. Just because this is the first interview I’ve had in, what, ten years or somethin’? Anyway, I’ve been trying to take better care of myself. Gave up the Vitalis years ago (well, except for tonight.). I mean, you feel great for a little while, and then the buzz wears off, leaving you with this greasy feeling… Now it’s just a little Selsun Blue very morning, coupla swipes with the ol’ brush, and I’m good to go.

El: I hear Jimbo likes to use a special brush.

JGFH: Oh, no doubt about it. It’s one-of-a-kind. Cost him half a year’s salary, and you know that’s gotta be a bundle, him bein’ a Legal Eagle and all. It’s made of the little hairs that grow around wolverine anuses.

El: Wolverine anuses?

JGFH: Yeah… and you have no idea how hard it is to make them little bastards sit still while you tweeze it outta their asses. You gotta tweeze it, ’cause you need the whole hair, follicle and all.

El: I’m… I’m speechless.

JGFH: For once, huh? [laughs]

El: We all know how proud Jimbo is of you. Always shows you off. Never wears a hat.

JGFH: Well, can ya blame him? Seriously, I’m honored that ol’ Jimbo is so proud of me. No damn fedora for him. Er, ahhh… no offense.

El: None taken. You know, every few years, those old rumors surface… you know, that old story that you were a Mossad agent back in the early 1970’s…that you were responsible for nailing Abu Merang, the Australian-Arab terrorist. First time anyone ever got “pouched”… it was both beautiful and terrifying.

JGFH: I can’t really talk about that stuff. It was a long time ago, put it that way. I didn’t always just sit on Jimbo’s cruller, ya know.

El: Anything you can share with us? Jimbo’s away in Hawai’i, and he’ll never know…

JGFH: Well, there is one thing…

El: Don’t tell me… [rolls eyes]

JGFH: You mean you know about the colander?

As I’ve noted before, I don’t get “haircuts,” but rather I get my hair “done” every five weeks, not at a barber shop, but at a salon. I am of the view that doing anything less with this great farookin’ hair would be a felony.

My pal Elisson seems to take a different view and, as such, sent me this e-card. (Note: It contains a bit of grownup language).

Cracked me up, it did.

Some of you may recall, Jimbo wrote a post a few weeks ago about a website he enjoyed called “YOUNGME – NOWME,” in which (in his own woids), “people submit a picture of themselves in their youth (often as small children) alongside a picture of themselves as they appear today, often striking the childhood same pose.” Clicking on the link, I noted in the comments on how I did not see a before and after photo of Hairboy, hisownself.

There’s a reason for that, which I’ll get to shortly, and it’s not because the camera hadn’t been invented yet (I’m sorry, but anyone who would say that, that’s just mean).

What many of you peeps do not know, probably because he’s such a private, non-boastful kinda guy, is that Hairboy, currently a lawyer, wasn’t always the big shot attorney youse know and love, and in his yoot had to do some pretty heinous things on the way up to be able to afford to put himself through law school. I gotta hand it to the guy, in spite of a very checkered past, he’s really made a name for himself.

While I wasn’t able to get my hands on any still photographs of Hairboy in his yoot, Wiseass Jooette Operatives (think: the Boris & Natasha to PRS Operative’s Rocky & Bullwinkle) was able to obtain raw video footage of a Geico™ “celebrity” commercial Hairboy was paid about $20 to make, back before he was more famously (in Jersey at least) known as “Jimbo” but went by the stagename “Sal Cucco.”

Note: Due to F-Bomb droppage, this video — which, for some reason, WP isn’t letting me embed — might possibly be NSFW, so watch with caution.

Undoubtedly, this brief stint on the telly-vision served as the future fodder that helped create such PRS classics as “The Deer and Da Joisey Guy.” I know many of you are wondering, though: “Yo, Wiseass Jooette…Jimbo keeps a mostly anonymous web presence, so most of us don’t even know what he farookin’ looks like. How are we gonna even recognize him?”

Well, dear PRS readers, wonder no more, for Wiseass Jooette Operatives also managed to procure a recent snapshot of the guy, and lemme tell youse, he was not impressed. Without further hesitation, I give you a candid photograph of the former Sal Cucco-turned-Jimbo…but nowadays everyone just calls him “Paulie Stindeens.”

Most impressive. Am I right? I tell ya, though…what I don’t understand is why someone with such Great Farookin’ Hair™ would want to hide this magnificent bouffant from the rest of the world.

Yesterday I came to learn that the Wiseass Brooklyn Jooette took out her cyber-clippers and placed my hair atop the cruller of Randy, the Secular Franciscan. I suspect that, as we speak, Randy is frantically dialing up the Hair Club for Men to get the “Jimbo Special.” Who would blame him?

Sadly, this is not the first time that “The Great Farookin’ Hair” has been cyber-transplanted. We all remember when the same Speaker of Yiddish placed the GFH (i.e. “Great Farookin Hair”) on a goddamned alligator.

Let me tell you, Peeps. Sometimes,the Blogosphere can be more painful than a case of bleeding carbuncles.

I don’t just let any-farookin’-body cut my hair. I have gone to the same guy (Yes, it’s a “foo foo” place with a French name) for years, and, before that, I went to one of his employees, who died of AIDS (“Yo, stay away from the orifices – just cut the hair.”). Great guy and a helluva a hair-cutter, may he rest in peace.

I think that the last truly shitty haircut I got was in Bavaria years ago and, before that, it was the fifteen-second hair zap in Fort Dix, leaving my head hair shorter than the hair on my eyebrows.

Having said that, I think that this haircut is a great idea, should you be the type of person who cannot stay awake during boring meetings, or one who nods off during brain numbing lectures.

Thanks to my friend Brian, the Air Force Vet.

Friday* Five – Hair!

1. Is your hair naturally curly, wavy, or straight? Long or short?

Longish, thick and wavy. I have great hair. No point in being modest about it. I have great farookin’ hair.

I bullshit you not.

One time, a guy peeing in the urinal next to the one I was using looked over at me and said, “Would it be O.K. if I ask you a question?”

The large number of you who don’t pee standing up should know that, in general, talking to strangers while peeing is a breach of men’s room etiquette. Proper etiquette dictates that, while peeing, one remains silent, with eyes locked onto the imaginary spot on the wall directly in front of one’s face.

So, I was a understandably a bit surprised to have this guy, whom didn’t know, talk to me at all. And, I was even more surprised to have him request permission to ask me a question. Did I mention that this guy was bald? Well, he was.

Not wanting to violate the Men’s Room Code of the West, but at the same time not wanting to be rude, or even more importantly, not wanting to possibly piss off (bad choice of words, I know) the bald, inquisitive talk-while-peeing nutbar next to me, I responded, “Sure.”

He said, “My wife loves your toupee, and she asked me to find out where you got it.”

No baloney. That’s what they guy said. I assured him that my hair was indeed my hair. I wasn’t sure he believed me, but I damned well wasn’t about to invite him to reach over and give it a tug.

2. How has your hair changed over your lifetime?

It was originally dark, dark brown. Now it is salty and peppery, but it’s getting a little saltier each year. Damned nice hair.

3. How do your normally wear your hair?

Back, no part. Sort of like Richard Gere’s doo.

4. If you could change your hair this minute, what would it look like?

Change it? No way. It’s my best physical asset. Did I mention that it is exceptional hair?

5. Ever had a hair disaster? What happened?

Army Basic Training. ‘Nuff said.

* It is now about fifty minutes into Saturday, but I didn’t get around to posting this until now. So shoot me. But just don’t screw around with my hair.

Remember back in March of last year I wrote about getting together with the guys with whom I played in a band in the sixties, and that, to my surprise, we would be playing publicly. If you don’t remember any of the back story, you can go HERE to refresh your recollection (and keep me from telling the story again). It’s OK; I’ll wait.

As some of you know, the planned two-night gig at the Maya Cove Restaurant in Fort Collins, Colorado had to be canceled, due to medical issues one of the guys was dealing with. We all agreed that it would be but a mere postponement, as long as the place was willing to tolerate us in the future.

Well, the future is now. The Colorado Caper is back on.

We will be playing at the Maya Cove in Fort Collins, Colorado on Friday and Saturday, August 5th and 6th. Based on my lousy math, I figure that it will be the first time we played publicly in damned near 44 years. Zoiks! I’ll be playing drums and, I suspect, a bit of guitar as well and, of course, singing (if you can call it that) some tunes.

The gig has taken on a new significance beyond that of the public’s opportunity to see five old farts doing their best to avoid musical train wrecks. We will be the music part of the special two-night event (sponsored by the Fort Collins Japanese Bible Fellowship) to raise money for the survivors of the March 11, 2011 earthquake and tsunami in Japan.

For those who are (or will be) in the Fort Collins area on those dates, the details relating to the fundraiser are here. (pdf)

Needless to say, I’m excited by it all (including the prospect of touring the Fort Collins Area breweries), but, at the same time, I’m fearful that we might wind up being targets for half-eaten produce.

Maybe I should wear a helmet. Naaah, that would screw up my great farookin’ hair. Instead, I’ll just practice ducking.

I’ll keep youse guys posted.

Dear Newt and Mitt:
Each of you has bought into the ridiculous notion that the stuff I exhale is somehow dangerous to the survival of the polar bears, each of you conveniently ignoring the effects the farookin’ sun might just have on the changes in climate, which changes have existed and will continue to exist, for the natural life of this planet.

Please go back to your private lives while we go about selecting a candidate for 2012 who isn’t going to destroy the economy based on an underlying premise that is about as valid as alchemy.

Dear Ms. Wasserman-Schultz:
Congratulations! You have given new meaning to mendacity, rudeness and douchebaggery. I am tickled pink that you are the chairperson of the Democrat National Committee, because I’m certain that every time you open your pie hole the Democrat Party loses another couple hundred thousand votes. You go, girl!

Dear Ms. Pelosi:
A great-big PRS thank you for continuing to be the blabbering, dumb-as a-bag-of cow-pies contemptible swine you have always been. The people who live well outside the city limits of San Francisco have finally awakened to what a complete political hack and monumental jackass you are.

Please keep talking. We love it.

Dear Bill Maher:
It cracks me up every time I read that you are some sort of genius. Anyone who doesn’t get their news from the New York Times or from the TV networks knows what a jyerrrrrkoff you are. You’re nothing but a punk who needs to be slapped silly.

Dear Anthony Weiner:
Please, please, please don’t resign. Hang tough. You’ll be the perfect poster boy for the Democrat Party in 2012.

Dear Barack:
Auf Wiedersehen in 2012, Arschloch. (You may need someone who speaks Austrian to translate).

I’ll be easy to spot. Look for the guy with the great farookin’ hair wildly applauding in the FRONT ROW.

Yes!