Geraldo Rivera’s natural black hair flowed in the wind as he sped around a curve in his red convertible. Taking the coastal route wasn’t the quickest way to get where he needed to go, but he’d painted a mental picture of himself that portrayed an irresistibly beautiful man donning an expensive pair of sunglasses racing up and down the Pacific Coast. He was always willing to add a few minutes to his commute in order to maintain that image. Of course, everyone with even a granular-sized brain knows that drivers of muscle cars and motorcycles are the most dimwitted of all of the humans on the earth. But fortunately for Geraldo, not many people in this world have a brain at all, so his self-obsession was magnified by almost everyone he encountered.
Stopping at a red light, Geraldo flicked his head to get his perfect hair out of his eyes. He looked to his right and shot finger guns at a car full of rowdy teenagers. Revving his engine loudly to gain their admiration, he looked straight ahead and smirked to give the appearance that he was a bad boy and didn’t care who was watching. But although he would never admit it, he knew that he needed those constant looks from strangers to suppress his insecurities.
The teenagers began whistling and hollering at Geraldo, still at that silly age where people like him mattered. Geraldo soaked up the energy they were casting, revved even louder, and flicked his hair again. His hair was so long and lively that it whipped toward one of the teens as if it was trying to nip at her. The girl blushed beet red as she felt the hair brush against her cheek, completely unaware that this man was nothing but a monster in disguise.
The light turned green and Geraldo decided to give the onlookers a show by speeding ahead of everyone else. He crushed the gas pedal, but instead of going anywhere, his car shut off. He looked around and smiled to mask his embarrassment. As the car full of teens drove on, they shifted from a posture of reverence to shrieking violent and infuriated boos at him. A few of them started barking like hounds and screaming at their driver to pull over so they could go hurt Geraldo. The driver did so about a mile ahead, and the teens began sprinting at a supernatural pace to go kill the beautiful longhaired man. Geraldo’s smile turned to fear as he noticed the teens’ faces so violet-red that it looked like they were about to burst like tomatoes under a boot.
Geraldo turned the key fervently. Large beads of sweat dripped from his ear lobes onto his suit jacket as the teens came within fifty feet of him. The car finally started and he sped off, but not before one of the blood-thirsty teens scuffed the passenger door with a thrown shoe.
“Idiots!” Geraldo scream-laughed at the raving teens as he distanced himself and ensured his safety.
Once Geraldo was out of sight, the teens returned to their previous states of mind, each one unable to account for their actions and wondering what had just happened. Geraldo, on the other hand, was in so much egotistical anguish that he completely forgot where he was supposed to be going. Instead, he decided that he needed to repair the damaged image of himself, so he drove to the nearest hair salon he could find. He’d learned over the years that hair stylists have a thing about men with long hair. They grow dreamy-eyed whenever they get an opportunity to style it. But they also get brokenhearted whenever they’re asked to cut it short. Some stylists even need to go on a bereavement leave of absence to grieve and recover from the loss.
Geraldo entered the shopping center and parked just outside of the salon. Before leaving his car, he shrugged and took a deep breath, looking at himself in the mirror to check that he still looked like his usual striking self. Once his confidence had been restored, he popped a mint into his mouth, left his car, and walked toward the salon with a deep strut.
The first hair stylist to see Geraldo began stuttering, her pupils changing to stars. Everyone else in the store gawked as his hair sprang into action, wrapping around the stylist’s hands and twirling her gently as if in a slow dance. Hardly able to speak, the stylist fanned herself with a hand and said, “I apologize, I don’t quite know what to say. I’ve just never seen hair like yours! It’s so thick. So wavy. So, so perfect. And it’s like it has a mind of its own!”
Geraldo gave a quick eyebrow flash that forced the stylist to clutch the cash register before she swooned. Knowing he had the entire store dangling before him, he simply asked, “Who wants to condition it?”
All of the stylists fell to their knees and sobbed. They shuffled toward him until they were all at his feet and laced their fingers together and wailed as they begged for the chance to be so lucky. Geraldo drank it up and it made his hair glisten and sway even more. After a moment of consideration, he merely pointed a finger at one of the beggars.
The beggar he’d selected was so overwhelmed that she began convulsing and vomiting and was unable to stand. Granting the stylist some time to regain her composure, Geraldo sat in a chair that was partitioned off from the rest of the store. Dedicated only to those that paid for extra privacy, Geraldo didn’t think twice about it, knowing that he was King here, able to do anything he wanted. While he waited, he allowed the other stylists to brush his hair.
The first stylist approached Geraldo with a hair brush and broke out in nervous sweats. “How do you manage to keep it so perfect?” the stylist asked slowly so as to not stutter like the other girl had.
Geraldo smiled in eager expectation as he watched the stylist in the mirror before him. “Why, it’s people like you that keep it like this!”
The stylist giggled at the compliment and her bowels loosened unexpectedly. Her hand trembled as she rose the brush to his head, and in the exact moment that it made contact with Geraldo’s hair, a thick lock wrapped itself around the stylist’s neck. The stylist dropped the brush and attempted to scream, but the lock of hair tightened its hold before she could. The hair wrapped even more of itself around her, like a boa constrictor coiling around its prey, and her eyes burst from the pressure.
Geraldo picked at his nails and yawned, teetering on the edge of boredom, while his locks lifted the stylist off of the ground and shrouded her in hair until she was no longer visible. She became absorbed into the thick of his hair, and it started growing even longer and more vibrant until she had disappeared completely. When she was gone, the hair went limp and hung motionless once again.
Geraldo took a lock of hair in his hand and rubbed it between his fingers. “That’ll do,” he whispered to himself. He stood and walked straight through the store to the exit, not concerned at all about the witnesses. He stepped over the stylist who he’d initially selected. Although she continued to shake uncontrollably and puke all over herself, she wept with regret that she hadn’t been able to tend to Geraldo’s hair.
Geraldo looked down at the stylist and said, “Trust me, dear, you’re the lucky one,” then he shot finger guns at her as he left the store.
Sunglasses on and looking more handsome than ever, Geraldo took his usual coastal route to get home, reflecting on his day as he drove. He’d just literally fed an entire person to his ego and should’ve been overflowing with pride and self-centeredness. But as he approached a stoplight, he was thrown back into the memory of what had happened with those deranged teens from earlier.
As Geraldo’s self-confidence withered, his hair began stirring. He punched the steering wheel, cursing his car for stalling when it did, then he cursed himself for buying a car that would put him at risk of that kind of embarrassment. He grew feverish and went to wipe his forehead on his sleeve.
It was when he lifted his arm to his forehead that Geraldo’s hair betrayed him. It grabbed hold of his arm with such force that it was ripped from his body and thrown across the intersection. The hair formed into a long braided rope and plunged into Geraldo’s mouth. Geraldo began choking and tried to pull the hair rope out, but it was already too deep into his body. It broke out of his belly button and began eating him alive, growing all the more glamorous with each skin cell it consumed.
The brainless drivers that were sitting in the cars nearby recognized Geraldo, as he had driven on this road many times. At first, they were terrified at the sight. But once they realized that it was Geraldo’s hair that was devouring him, they began cheering and tossing their possessions toward Geraldo’s car as a sign of gratitude. Like with the stylists, there was just something about that hair that made everyone love it.
The hair took the shape of a wave and towered over Geraldo’s lifeless remains, then flooded the car to ingest what was left. By the time it was over, all that remained of Geraldo was the arm that had been thrown across the intersection. Everyone was thrilled to have had the opportunity to watch the event unfold, therefore, no one had called the police. However, when the police did eventually arrive on the scene, all they saw was a red car whose interior was the same color as its exterior. Aside from a few rumors about where the hair had gone, no one knew for sure, and everyone accepted that it would go wherever it pleased. That hair, after all, was King of this world.
