DEAN KUTCHER

My parents had finally reached the end of their rope. I’d been booted out of college by that ASSHOLE Dean Kutcher and my mom and dad refused to let me move back home before I got a job. All they saw was a long-haired stoner with nothing to look forward to, but I blamed the Dean. He’d been gunning for me since I’d shown up in his office Freshman year. He was an old school man who “didn’t get washouts like me.” So, after I’d been caught with weed in my dorm, he booted me from school, and I was now royally fucked . . . and the first thing that had to go was my hair. Wasn’t going to get a “respectable job” looking like this. Guess Dean Kutcher was right . . . I was going to be forced to grow up.

Even now, standing in front of some old, junked out barber shop I was having second thoughts. Maybe I should just tell them all to go fuck themselves. Then, the door to the shop opened and an older man stood there. He had a curled mustache, a bow tie and a striped apron. He looked like a classic barber pulled from the 1940’s as he lit a pipe and nodded in my direction. 

“Hey there, son,” he said. “Thinking about a change, huh?”

“Yeah, guess so. May as well get it over and see how much more my life can get fucked.” He didn’t look shocked as I stormed into the shop and he followed. 

He offered me a chair, and I sat down as he tied a huge barber’s bib on me. He then pulled my hair back and started to comb it. 

“Got a lot of hair here,” he said. “What you looking for.”

“Something that Dean Kutcher would love. Yeah, do that. My parents would finally pull out of my ass and leave me alone.”

The old barber raised an eyebrow and started cutting. I watched as my hair fell to the ground around me, and I just took a deep breath before I closed my eyes. I didn’t want to see this.

“Just let me know when we’re done, pops,” I said. 

“Yes Sir,” he said, continuing to cut my hair. 

I felt his hands move over my scalp,  a bit light-headed as I began to drift off a bit. I was relaxed, more than I had been in a long time, and it felt great. It wasn’t long until I drifted off completely. Then the Barber woke me, tapping me on the shoulder. I opened my eyes and squinted. Clearing my throat as the barber stood there giving me the once over. He looked pleased, which horrified me. If he liked the cut then I knew Dean Kutcher and my parents would LOVE it. 

“I took quite a bit off and made a few changes, but I think it’s exactly what you asked for,” he said, spinning the chair around as I saw myself for the first time. But, staring back at me in the mirror was DEAN KUTCHER.

The Barber pulled the large bib off, revealing a three-piece suit and . . . I looked back behind myself to see if this was some kind of trick, but the reflection mimicked my every move. I reached up and felt my upper lip, a perfect copy of Dean Kutcher’s mustache there. 

“What the fuck did you do to me?” I gasped as I heard Dean Kutcher’s voice come out of my mouth. It was deep and southern, like Dr. Phil’s more masculine brother. I then ran my hands over my bald head. All my hair was gone, just a small white horse shoe patch left. 

“I gave you exactly what you asked for,” the Barber said with a smile. “Something Dean Kutcher would love.” He brushed off my dark blue suit and I suddenly shifted, appreciating the fact that he was brushing off my favorite suit to make sure I was cleaned up before I left. I had to get back to school and . . . WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING??? I tried to fight the thoughts, but they kept coming as I straightened my tie. I looked good, a proper Dean with a proper gentleman’s haircut. Bob had been cutting my hair and trimming my mustache for ten years now and always did an excellent job. 

“Handsome as always,” I said, smoothing out the ends of my mustache. Pulling my pipe from my coat pocket, I leaned back in the chair. “You wouldn’t have time for a little smoke with an old friend, would you Bob?”

Bob smiled, pulled a pack of tobacco from his pocket. “Always have time for a good smoke, Dean.”