a high end woman tried and failed to have clifford fired. on a sunny afternoon she came in with her hair up in one high pony tail, and asked clifford what he thought of it, and he said “it’s nice, but aren’t cows supposed to have two horns?”
a highly disposable rock star cried like a baby when clifford threatened to tell the press about his cocaine halitosis if he didn’t allow him creative freedom with his overgrown balding thatch. clifford explained that if any star looks like shit under his watch, he comes off looking like shit also, and then duly did what any prison barber could’ve done by shaving his shit hair right down to the bone. there wasn’t a single stubble of hair left on that dickhead’s dome. he was charged two hundred pounds sterling for this one simple stroke of genius. clifford quite rightly demanded a generous tip on top of that, telling the philistine star he could’ve charged a whole lot more, cause for the first time ever, his arsehole of a face looked quite strong and distinctive. the heavy metal record label phoned up the high end salon and congratulated clifford for the radical transformation. clifford then suggested they finish off the look by buying their ugly underwhelming rock star a big pair of cheap dark aviator ray bans to cover up his dead fish eyes… so they did exactly that, and phoned back a few weeks later to tell clifford how striking the arsehole now looks in publicity photographs. an absolute revelation which manifested itself in healthier record and ticket sales… at christmas clifford got a card from the disposable rock stars management with one thousand pounds inside, along with lovely warm sincere words… “happy new year darling.. thank you for polishing the shit out of our shit…it now shines”.
great hair is a good pop song’s taxi ride to the top of the hit parade.