Demon Days

My hair is really getting in my way these days. It's strange, whenever I motion towards the hair-cutter-thingy it's like there's this tiny voice, screaming "noo! don't cut me plz" which kinda makes it hard to follow through. I have checked for tiny people, but there are none. I have come to the somewhat comforting conclusion that my hair must have taken on a life of its own.
Or, possibly, it's posessed. Which isn't nearly as comforting a thought.

So I'm planning a trip to the local church-place to talk to the local priest-person about testing my hair for demonic ectoplasm (or whatever demons are using for their waterbeds nowadays). And if he finds any I'll just dip my head in the nearest baptismal font and run away whimpering, hopefully surviving the mildly sarcastic remarks the churchgoers throw after me. And, also, the violent aftermath of a sudden exorcism, which is bound to leave some buildings in the immediate area (including said church-place) somewhat scorched. Oh well.

Maybe I should just cut my hair instead.