Tag Archives: war between man and mullet

My First Mullet: Along Came a Man Bun

(A Tale Told in Three Acts)

Narrator:

From the dawn of time,
To the dusk of the present,
Man has warred internal
Over matters of many,
From the depths of his wallet,
To the tip-tops of his very head,
Raging against new horrors,
Nitpicking at the mundane,
Yet feeling lost at all points
Here and in between.

This personal strife
Has not abated quietly,
For the man must fight daily
With those demented elements
That come hotly against him,
Designed to inconvenience,
Or simply to put him out
Into the cold, dark world
Of vanity.

This war internal
Has not been a lone battle,
But a war of singularity’s parts,
A test of will against the pieces,
The pieces that define him,
And the bits that form him,
Internal and external,
Of blood and mullet alike.

This war has raged
Since the beginning of time.
But today, perhaps,
Man shall, at last, see its end.
Today, perhaps,
He may put his strife to rest.
Given that nothing happens
To compromise the peace he seeks
With those pieces of himself
That have remained at war.
Perhaps, today, if all bodes well,
Man will be at peace with his mullet.

Man:

Will our madness ever cease,
This perversion of taste,
Such antithesis to peace?

Or, are we destined to skirmish,
All day, into night
Like some confused dervish?

Uncomfortable with our sight,
Steadfast in identity,
Clashing over who’s right?

We fight with the mirror,
You and me, against sanity;
O’ the results couldn’t be clearer.

Our war is attrition,
Where neither is a winner;
We both deserve admonition.

Yea, a mullet you may be,
But my hair you still are,
And baldness escapes we.

In a world where image reigns,
And respect is found in covering,
We must take our salt in grains.

Peace between us must be found.
Shall we truce then, dear mullet?
Shall we reach our common ground?

Mullet:

Oh, you wacky simpleton,
I never wanted to fight.
My job was to protect you,
From birds, bugs, and light.
It was you who hated me,
Not I who hated you.
I just wanted a chance to live,
To claim my right as hairdo.

Dear confused man, you,
So short of your seeing,
Your scalp is my dwelling place,
A canvas for my being.
Why shall I battle
Against my very home?
What purpose is it for me
To strip myself off the dome?

Man of vanity, sir of strife,
Our war is doth misplaced.
Much else demands your attention,
My aggression is but chaste.
Riots, speech, and bloodshed,
True problems in need of release.
Shouldn’t those be your sadness?
Can’t you grant me peace?

Man Bun:

Ooh, a quarrel among soulmates,
How juicy, how saucy!

I must scrutinize this drama
As one swirls a fine wine.

Analyzing the players of this story,
Shall grant me a great pleasure.

Oh, yes, the play-by-play, sublime!
How may I capture this event forever?

Behold! One of you is a vessel,
Designed to carry the other.

The other of you, a passenger,
Designed to ride like a leech.

You fight! You make up!
A narcissistic fever dream.

The spitting image of my own battle,
A battle you’ve also fought with me!

Man:

Oh, no! What interloper is this?
Has horror visited me twofold?
Has decency gone amiss?

I lie speechless at this entrance,
At this, intrusion, at this mess—

Narrator:

The mullet interjects!

Mullet:

You! Cross-pollinated monster!
Who invited you to our party?
This battle has kept sacred
Our intimate anger quarte!
The man duels. I duel.
A gentleman’s war with image.
But you, oh foul beast!
You have no place within our scrimmage!

Be gone! Be gone,
Horrid golem of insanity!
You are perversion of style,
Man’s folly for vanity!
How dare you infect it,
The sacred image of man?
How dare you supplant me,
Hair most foul in all the land?

Man Bun:

My, my, somebody’s testy today!
You say to me I’m unwelcome?

Have you the right to tell me off,
Infamous “Do” of the eighties?

I think that I think not, dear un-sir!
Cast a stone at me at your peril.

I am no pushover to hairbound justice!
I can tangle with the best of you!

The night is young and so am I.
With a twist and a pop, I exist!

Listen to me, yesterday’s news,
My physique needs no shears to shine!

All I need is a rubber band and a will,
And maybe arched shoulders and pride.

The best of men wear me, you hear me?
The best of men wear me for truth!

Man:

Oh, no! This interloper is man bun!
It has its grips set upon me.
Save me, mullet, for I am done!

Mullet:

They say the enemy of my enemy
Is my friend, ice cream scoop head!
But man is no longer my enemy,
And you, top knot, are not my friend.
I know your game and what you seek,
And this peace you shall not invade.
Reconciliation is my order of business,
Not a threat from a twisted man braid!

Man Bun:

Dear Mullet, you misinterpret me;
I do not seek to invade your space.

You see, I am the new kid on the block,
Observing a world in which to fit in.

The places around me abound in wonder,
And the joys I bring are geometrically sound.

I come to satisfy the hunger of man,
To shape into anything he shall imagine.

But that is not all that I am, Mullet, I hope you see.
No, there is more to me than meets the eye.

So, please listen, intently, to what I wish to share,
As early judgment against me will fulfill no victory.

This message, I insist, benefits us both,
And you shall know why our peace must exist.

Now, look me in the bulb, dear Mullet.
Take hold of my ponytail and see!

Do you not understand where I come from,
Or the ignorance of your lambast against me?

I have not come here to start a war with you.
No, friend, that is not the goal I keep.

The imperativeness of my clarity, I hope you know,
Is paramount to our mutual trust.

So, please understand my message, friend Mullet.
Please listen, as I do not wish to enrage you again.

Yes, I choose not to pull you into aggression, my pal;
No, no, no! An engagement of battle I do not seek.

We shall have no beef on this or any other day,
For you and I were born of the same place.

Yes, dear Mullet, we are brothers,
Like fraternal twins, but better.

Do not fight against me, or the future.
Instead, join me, and let us make this world of men stronger together.

Narrator:

Oh dear, what do we see,
But the internal war
That hair has among itself?
Is it true then, dear humanity,
That vanity is a vicious circle,
Set to fight all who oppose it,
Even when the source of vanity
Is just another victim of vanity?

Shake your heads, men.
Shake your heads in shame!
For the man bun is upon you,
The man bun has come to stay!

(To be continued…)

Please be sure to subscribe to Drinking Café Latte at 1pm to receive alerts when new posts go live. The handy blue subscription button is located at the bottom of this page.