Battling Salons.
In a bustling little town where everyone knew everyone’s name and gossip flowed faster than morning coffee, the old Master Barber, Mr. Whitaker, reigned supreme. For over 40 years, his barbershop—Whitaker’s Gentlemen’s Grooming—had been a place of stories, tradition, and immaculate haircuts.
But one Monday morning, the peaceful rhythm of Main Street was disturbed.
Across the road, the windows of a freshly painted, ultra-modern salon gleamed under the sun. With loud music, sleek chairs, and stylists who wore headsets and sneakers, the new place called “Clip Joint” opened its doors with a flourish. It wasn’t just the flashy decor or the futuristic gadgets that turned heads—it was the massive sign they hung right outside:
“WE GIVE SEVEN DOLLAR HAIR CUTS!”
The town buzzed. Lines formed. Teenagers, bargain hunters, and the curious trickled over to the Clip Joint, eager to try the budget sensation. Whitaker’s shop, once humming with regulars and their cheerful chatter, suddenly felt hollow. Days passed, and the empty chairs began to mock him.
Mr. Whitaker didn’t panic. He didn’t slash prices or throw in gimmicks. Instead, he quietly stepped outside one morning with a hammer, a few nails, and a wooden placard he’d painted himself. By noon, it hung proudly beneath the awning, its message written in careful, no-nonsense script:
“WE FIX SEVEN DOLLAR HAIR CUTS.”
A blond was rollerblading with her headphones on.
She stopped at a hair salon and asked for a haircut.
She instructed that the hair stylist could not take off her headphones.
The stylist replied refusing to cut her hair, so she left.
She went to a different hair salon and said the same thing.
This time, the stylist agreed to cut her hair.
After a while, the blond fell asleep in the chair.
To wake her, the stylist took off the headphones.
The blond immediately fell on the floor, flopped and died.
Confused at what happened, the stylist put on the headphones.
They were saying: “breath in, breath out.”
The other day
Man accompanied his wife when she went to the parlor for a haircut.
Reading a magazine in the reception area, he found an interesting article.
He asked the receptionist if he could take the magazine next door to make a photocopy.
“Leave some ID, a driver’s license or a credit card,” she said.
“But my Wife is here getting a haircut,” he explained.
“Yes, I know,” she replied. “But I need something you’ll come back for.”
Dog Haircut.
A girl took her dog to the parlor for a haircut,
and asked what it would cost.
Being told that it would cost her $50, she was outraged.
“I only pay 30 bucks for my own haircut!”
The groomer replied, “That may be true. But then you don’t bite, do you?“
