Dear Friends; To tell the truth, surrealism.

Well, figuring out this Pine-Sol rhetoric of convoluted pipe dreams, enraptured in my REM sleep, rapid eye movement, unconscious, scandalous, auditory and precipitous cliff hanging heights of paranoia. This truth remains true. Magic Shave awakened my lust for Zoom visitations. It was a Nair experience that was unequivocally Neet to have my friend(s) witness me in full regalia as “The Afro American Mr. Clean.” I’m telling you. The acidic burns from stripping my scalp’s hairline was so pristine and bone bare nude that it surely was sorcery that Merlin The Magician would have cast a spell of celibacy upon a chaste virgin to assure the summer solstice harvest. “Damn!” commented Professor Golub during our 20-minute Zoom visitation. The Vaseline grease was as slick as greased lightning that the shine from my dome nearly blinded him as he wondered out loud, “How the hell did you get your head as smooth as a baby’s bottom?” Oh! Theo! Oh! G! Oh! Maggie! Please beware! Prepare the Gucci designer sunglasses for our Commodore, Zoom 20 minute visitation. When I get through spit polishing this illustrious oversized dome of mine, it will be as if a Red Giant SuperNova had collapsed, leaving a Black Hole. So, hold on to all your heirloom jewelry and if you start picking up FM radio stations through your fillings in your teeth, it’s just the polar opposite frequency disruptor in your brain blinded by the light! Please keep in mind. That is simply the charismatic attraction of my magnetic personality’s illumination and not due to hypnotic trance you’re under by wondering, “How the hell did he do that bald head with a chemical peel and not destroy his scalp?” Fine-dined and looking my prime for those dear friends of mine. You make my hygiene gleam! One of the reasons we make a good team. We go together as Arm & Hammer.