Recently, the staff here at MojoFiction heard about this newfangled thing called global warming, which came as a total surprise to us as we gunned our Hummer down Interstate 90 on our way to visit our stock broker to ask about the performance of our oil and gas stock. See, we hadn’t been paying attention because, aside from spending most of our life trying to ignore Al Gore, we have been preoccupied with our hairline. Like a melting icecap, it has been slowly pulling back, revealing the beautiful and frightening land beneath. In fact, we assumed “Global Warming” was code for “Hair Loss.”
Why was this happening? We wondered. And was there a way to cover it up and pretend like it wasn’t real? To answer this question, we decided to go directly to the highest office in the land: Sesame Street. Unfortunately, all we got was some purple vampire who kept saying, “Let me count the remaining hair follicles. Two! Two remaining hair follicles!” Okay, so, thanks for that…
“One! One sarcastic thanks!”
So we left the Street and made our way to the White House. When the president walked in to the Oval Office, he took one look at us and said, “How did you get here?”
“By being the best,” we said.
“Your answer checks out.”
“We thought it might.”
“I’m going to make you head of the EPA. You can sit in on the security council, too.”
What luck! That was exactly what we were hoping for. Now we could find out the real reason that these wayward hairs were quietly fleeing our scalp for other locations we don’t want to mention here.
The first thing we did as head of the EPA was scour government websites for information that they must have already collected on balding. Strangely, we found nothing. Where to go next?
Previously, we had read that a man’s hair configuration as he ages comes from his mom’s side of the family. We never met our grandfather, but we always assumed that he lived his life walking the earth, surviving off the kindness of the admirers of his head of luscious hair. Turns out that might not have been true. But since we couldn’t verify that fact, we took the next logical step and hopped into our EPA helicopter for a trip to the Arctic. Because we hold an important government position, we took 30 helicopters and 16 unmanned drones. The drones were just for air races in our spare time, but seemed necessary.
When we got there we realized immediately that it was really cold. “What can we do to warm this place up?” we asked.
“Just give it a few years,” said one of our assistants.
“Ugh! Our hair might be gone by then.”
“Probably long before then,” said the assistant.
Did we mention that our unmanned drones were equipped with missiles? By a complete coincidence, we now have one less assistant. We dumped his helicopter in the ocean, but we didn’t see the point in salvaging the unused fuel.
The Artic held no answers to our quest to understand our hair, so we crossed the Atlantic Ocean on foot via the mass of plastic refuse that nature created for humans to use so that we wouldn’t get wet, and also to protect whales from the sun. Unfortunately, Canada was so polite that they wouldn’t even look at our head. When we asked if they had some Rogaine, they said, “Why? Your head has the mane of a young Leonardo Di Caprio, eh.”
“Leonardo Di Caprio?”
“Ya, you know, Al Gore’s friend.”
So we used the last of our drone missiles on the Canadians. Before you tweet bad things about us, you should know that the Canadians were biodegradable. We’re the EPA after all. We’re environmentally conscious.
So we came back to the White House empty-handed. The president was obviously not happy about this, so he immediately demoted us to internet blogger. This leaves us in a tough spot because we are essentially right back where we started. If we can’t answer the age-old philosophical question about why the hair recedes, was there at least a way we could slow down the process, or even stop it completely?
We asked Brian Urlacher, former Chicago Bear and spokesman for the hair restoration company “People-Who-Looked-Studly-Bald-And-Now-Want-To-Look-Like-They-Just-Graduated-Some-Pansy-Ivy-League-College.”
After he pummeled us into the ground for being a tool, we took our leave.
But then, finally, over a cold beer at the local pub, the solution presented itself. We understood suddenly how to keep our wandering hair from escaping its designated home on top of our head. No longer would we lose a single strand.
Build a wall around our scalp of course.
“One! One cringeworthy punchline!”
 photo courtesy of the homepage on www.whitehouse.gov. It has been altered. In the best way possible.