A memory of a barber

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Barber Shave Shop 1

Author: Matthew Steele

Perhaps
it
is
my
age,
and
it
is
arguable
that
I
am
being
nostalgic,
but
indulge
me
for
a
moment,
if
you
please.
Growing
up,
I
remember
my
first
trips
to
a
barber;
a
small
little
shop
filled
with
the
smell
of
apple
flavored
tobacco’s
and
Birchwood
soaps.
The
chairs
were
fine
carved
oak
and
decked
out
in
worn
red
leather. 
You
could
see
about
a
hundred
pictures
on
the
wall,
of
old
cars,
and
men
in
chairs
getting
a
fresh
lathered
shave.
These
were
masculine
moments,
where
being
a
man
was
not
only
accepted
but
expected.
Men
came
into
this
place
and
I
would
hear
them
mutter
about
the
local
ball
club
favorite,
or
brashly
curse
about
something
that
was
irritating
them.
These
were
the
moments
as
I
sat
in
the
chair
quietly,
that
brought
a
smile
and
a
slight
scolding
while
Vern,
my
barber,
was
trimming
down
my
sideburns.

Today,
finding
a
man’s
barber
is
like
finding
a
gold
vein
in
a
long
abandoned
mine,
but
you
can
find
hair
cutting
Crapdonald’s
just
about
on
every
street
corner.
Perhaps
even
worse,
there
is
a
beauty
spa
named
“Utopia”
or
some
such
fucking
place
that
bleeds
those
poor
male
slaves
of
half
the
paycheck
they
handed
over
to
their
feminist
masters.
It
begs
the
question
of
what
one
of
the
most
important
things
has
been
taken
from
men
today.
Perhaps
we
could
sum
it
up
in
one
phrase,
the
pride
of
being
a
man.

Because
in
the
end,
when
you
walk
out
of
there,
you
will
remember
what
it
was
like
to
feel
good
being
a
man.[/quote]
Men
have
been
told
they
are
manipulative
and
selfish,
that
they
are,
in
essence,
raping,
lying,
cheating
bastards,
incapable
of
any
compassion
without
a
woman’s
guidance.
Alright,
so
maybe
we
bought
into
the
lie,
but
more
likely
it
was
beaten
into
us
by
our
master
to
which
we
foolishly
said
“I
do.” 
Hindsight
being
20/20,
you
should
have
gotten
into
that
sports
car
your
buddy
had
waiting
on
you,
when
he
hoped
you
would
change
your
mind. 
Because
you
never
really
thought
about
what
would
happen
to
you
in
ten
years,
when
she
“rediscovered”
herself.

When
dealing
with
the
courts,
the
part
time
fatherhood,
struggling
to
pay
child
support
while
slumping
into
depression
over
not
seeing
your
children,
it’s
a
miracle
more
men
have
not
ended
their
lives
over
the
trials
this
corrupt
system
has
forced
them
to
endure.

Yet
men
endure
it,
they
take
it,
like
they
have
hundreds
of
times
over
in
man’s
history. 
Maybe
it
is
because
at
the
end
of
their
enslavement,
they
find
their
balls
again.
Maybe
they
remember
what
it
was
like
to
stand
on
their
own
through
the
hard
times,
and
find
out
that
being
who
they
are
is
good
and
decent
and
is
worth
being.
Maybe
they
take
a
look
around
and
found
an
old
buddy
who
went
through
their
experience
too,
and
they
realize
the
injustices
being
perpetrated
on
them
by
a
misandric
society. 
Then
they
take
a
bigger
look
around,
to
shows
of
men
being
portrayed
as
idiots
and
buffoons
on
television,
to
being
inundated
with
pink
ribbons,
while
their
father
dies
of
prostate
cancer

with
no
marches
for
their
struggle.
With
that
much
misandry,
and
that
much
money
backing
it,
how
much
more
can
a
man
do
to
fight
that?
He
cannot
even
get
a
decent
shave
anymore.

Hey,
I
understand,
it
was
easy
to
go
spend
a
few
bucks
on
a
disposable
razor,
and
a
few
more
on
some
white
shit
in
a
can.
“Real”
men
do
not
go
for
shaves
when
their
masters
need
their
nails
done
and
we
do
not
want
to
short
the
grocery
bill.
Real
men
do
not
object
when
those
same
masters
tell
them,
barber
shops
are
only
for
men,
and
therefore,
sexist.
You
chauvinistic
bastard,
what
were
you
thinking
when
you
wanted
your
beard
trimmed?
I
know,
it
was
all
about
being
the
superior
over
women
and
keeping
them
down.
That
was
what
you
thought.
Something
along
those
lines.
Ya.
Sure.

Alright,
so
maybe
we
bought
into
the
lie,
but
more
likely
it
was
beaten
into
us
by
our
master
to
which
we
foolishly
said
“I
do.”
Or
maybe,
you
just
want
to
find
a
place
where
a
man
could
be
a
man
again.
A
place
where
it
was
alright
to
curse
about
your
favorite
ball
club
playing
like
hell.
A
place
where
you
could
walk
in
looking
like
hell
and
smell
like
a
man
when
you
walked
out.
Perhaps
it
was
a
camaraderie,
or
maybe
it
was
the
old
pictures,
hell,
maybe
it
was
the
fact
that
you
did
not
have
to
worry
about
a
judge
taking
away
75
percent
of
your
check,
or
how
you
were
going
to
get
that
toy
for
the
holidays
for
your
child. 
It
was
a
place
where
you
had
to
trust
another
man
who
was
holding
a
razor
to
your
neck.
The
good
part
about
that,
was
that
you

could

trust
him.
He
had
your
back,
because
you
were
on
the
same
side.
You
were
both
men. 
We
have
to
remember
that
when
we
look
around,
at
other
men,
and
watch
them
get
dragged
through
hell.
We
have
to
remember
our
camaraderie
in
this
fight
against
misandry.

So
maybe
it’s
time
to
look
up
an
old
barber,
and
throw
the
fucking
Gillette
five
razor
disposable
out
the
damned
window.
You
do
know
that
five
razors
is
not
good
for
your
face
when
just
one
good
sharp
one
will
do,
right?
I
guess
that
is
my
point.
So
much
of
man’s
pride
has
been
stripped
from
him
because
he
was
just
a
man,
that
we
do
not
even
remember
how
to
shave
properly
anymore.
So
when
your
buddy
just
lost
half
his
paycheck
to
child
support
over
false
domestic
violence
accusations,
and
cannot
make
the
rent
because
the
other
half
of
his
check
is
still
going
to
the
mortgage
for
the
house
he
cannot
live
in?
Call
him
up,
and
take
him
to
a
barber
shop
and
get
him
a
good
shave
and
haircut.
While
you’re
at
it,
get
one
for
yourself,
and
ask
the
man
shaving
you
for
good
tips
on
shaving
for
men.

Because
in
the
end,
when
you
walk
out
of
there,
you
will
remember
what
it
was
like
to
feel
good
being
a
man.
Then
maybe
you
will
feel
strong
enough
to
begin
to
help
your
brothers
fight
back
against
what
made
them
feel
badly
in
the
first
place.
Because
in
the
long
haul
we
are
going
to
need
every
good
man
we
can
get.
The
way
I
see
it,
might
as
well
look
sharp
getting
there.

Original Story on AVFM
These stories are from AVoiceForMen.com.
(Changing the cultural narrative)

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