From Fro to No Fro

I got a haircut, and geez, it was 'bout time.  Mom drove me to Goodfellow AFB, and I got a nice "high and tight" haircut.  You know -- military style, good ol' boy, traditional haircut.  I'm hoping that with this haircut, people will start calling me "sir."  Babcia and Granddad keep telling me how good it looks and that I don't look like a "baby" anymore.  I love the sound of those compliments.  Seriously, we should have gotten the haircut a little sooner.  Now, people know that I mean business, especially when I decide to unroll the toilet paper and do some excavating with my Skidsteer in the houseplants.

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The other evening, I was just minding my own business, driving my Ferraris, Corvettes, and Toyota Land Cruiser along the scenic highway (the couch, but don't burst my bubble).  That's when I heard Locke and all of the other furball doofuses in the hallway whispering.  Locke, "Shhhhhh!  Wait for it, w-a-i-t   f-o-r  i-t........." Then, they could hear a key inserted in the front door lock.  Within seconds, the door opened and in walked dad. Albert loudly whispered, "NOW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Once I heard the door open, I completely disregarded the crazies in the hallway and ran to see dad.  My latest trick is stealing the hat out of his flight suit pocket.  He keeps it in the pocket on his lower leg, and man, it's easy pickins'.  I love that hat!  When I have that hat on, I command so much more respect. As I was grabbing Dad's hat, I heard Ludendorff whisper, "Ja, you are correct.  Zee kiddo lights up zlike ...
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