Barber 1: “You know what my wife said? You were all over the bed last night, and you never touched me.”
Barber 1: “What’s the matter? You tired? You eat?”
Barber 2: “I had onion soup for lunch.”
Barber 1: “What, onions make you tired? You want know what onions do to me?”
Barber 2: “I don’t wanna know.”
Barber 1: “No, really – they give me nightmares. I love ’em, but if I have them, I can’t sleep.”
Barber 2: “What no’mally works for me is a couple of shots of brandy.”
Customer: “Murray says to Selleck, “Tom, you better cut your moustache.” Well, that’s like telling the Pope to like go Santería, be a Voodoo priest.” I mean, that’s his livelihood, come on.”
Listening to a restaurant ad: served on a bed of forbidden black rice…
Barber 1: “Fawbidden? You get some sort of forbidden disease!”
Come see us at ____ street in Eastern Secaucus.
Barber 1: “Easte’n Seacaucus! Forbidden?”
Gesturing to the two boys waiting their turn with their mother, one of them with young-hero longish blond hair, he quips: “why so serious? You afraid you’re going to end up like these two?” – Me with male-pattern-and-thus-shaving-head-baldness, my compatriot a 60-something gent also going the whole hog, shaving the wings of his vanity.
The other barber lifts a dark-haired boy out of the chair, puts him down, brushes him off, and says, “what you think, Dad?”