A Bald Man’s Letter To LeBron James

Dear LeBron James,

On the real, I’m not here to speak with you about your game. I mean, it’s generally understood that you’re one of the greatest basketball players of all time. Shit, depending on who you ask, you’ve already passed Michael Jordan as the GOAT. In any case, I’m not here to talk about your Los Angeles Lakers or the rest of the NBA. Frankly, I’m here, as a brother, to advise you about your hair. All I can say is, it’s time to fucking let it go, son.

Now, let’s keep it a buck, man. Seriously, we all saw what happened against the Utah Jazz, fam. Hell, Anthony Davis tried to warn you about what was going on, bruh. Needless to say, your lace front fell out, son. In the middle of a game, brethren. On national television. Like, do I even need to explain how embarrassing that is, kinfolk?

Look, for years (and years and fucking years), you’ve tried to avoid baldness like the plague. At the beginning of every season, it looks like you’ve found the cure for male pattern baldness. Then, like 20 games into the season, your real hairline resurfaces. From there, you look like Bobo the Clown for trying to convince us that this was your actual hair. All I know is, enough is fucking enough, son.

Listen, before you think that I’m judging you, allow me to be transparent about myself. Now, despite being bald, I can still technically grow hair on my head. In actuality, I began shaving it off because my front hairline started to go from a straight line to a McDonald’s arch. Anyway, the way my pride is setup, I couldn’t continue to front (and argue with my Jamaican barber) like my shit was still pristine, man. So, I told him to buzz it all off. That was February of 2009. The truth is, I’ve been blissfully happy ever since, fam.

All in all, you don’t have to go through this, bruh. The last time I checked, Jordan was/is your favorite player, son. Real talk, he made baldness cool, man. The way I see it, you don’t have to dealt with this anguish, fam. Just let the hair follicles go and let your scalp be free, brethren. From my viewpoint, your scalp wants to be free anyway.

In the end, come join the team, son. Ultimately, it’s enjoyable on this side, man. By and by, I haven’t worn a durag in a decade, fam. Furthermore, I can go to sleep/wake up without brushing my hair, bruh. At the end of the day, I’m offering you liberation, LeBron. Please, embrace what nature is already trying to show you. It’s the only way, brethren.

Sincerely,

A fan who doesn’t want to see you suffer anymore

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My First Gray Hairs

So, yesterday was a humbling experience, son. Look, I always joke about being washed, but I actually felt it yesterday. I mean, I already have the joints of a 60-year-old dude. But, that’s because of my years of basketball, man. On the real, this gray hair shit is for the birds, fam. Frankly, I thought I had more time before my follicles threw in the towel, bruh. All in all, Father Time is trying to run up on the kid, brethren.

Ok, before I continue, let me tell everyone a quick story. So, I first shaved my head bald back in February of 2009. After getting into an argument with my Jamaican barber about where my hairline should be, I said “fuck it,” son. Shit, instead of pretending like my shapeup wasn’t starting to make the McDonald’s arch, I just took it all off, man. Side note, hearing a barber yell “no mon, it don’t grow dere” in patois is a trash ass feeling, folks. Anyway, because of this, I haven’t paid much attention to what my hair does when it starts to grown back in.

In any case, as of late, I’ve been lazy with shaving my head. So, when I hopped out the shower yesterday, I was in for a rude awakening, fam. Now, at first, when I saw the gray, I thought it was dead skin, bruh. Real talk, I tried to scratch the shit off, but it wouldn’t budge. From there, I asked my wife if she could try scratching it off. She looked at my head and was like “babe, that ain’t dead skin, that’s a gray hair. Oh, and you have another one over here.” Wait, what? Word? Listen, it would be one thing if I was “premature gray” or some shit. But, that ain’t it, folks. The boy LC is just getting old, people.

In the end, this post might not matter to anyone else, but it matters to me. Not because I think there’s something wrong, but because it’s a reminder that I need to take better care of myself. Ultimately, I’m not trying to be the bedridden old head or the geriatric senior citizen. Hell, good thing I just bought a bunch of dumbbells for the crib, son. At the end of the day, I’m trying to feel like a fucking superhero when I’m 50, man. With that being said, let me get outta here and lift some weights, fam. Good day. LC out.

P.S. I’d rock the fuck out of a gray beard, though. Let’s make that happen, Father Time! That is all.