The first haircut I ever got from a barber was so bad I walked out without paying. He was also my principal’s brother. He asked me who the heck did that to me. Your brother I told him.
I’m roughly the same age as Hobbes, or I was in 1985 (Hobbes has probably aged better/slower than me), and $8.50 then would’ve bought you a pretty decent haircut.
He took a bullet too, I think the implication is that someone attacked him and Tracer returned fire. (Realistically, I think it’s just a string of tropes and not meant to be a coherent narrative)
Yeah, agreed. Thankfully my dad died after having brain surgery for cancer so I feel like I’ve earned the right to continue to chuckle at them even if they’re not appropriate. I think it’s what he would’ve wanted. It’s okay to be inappropriate as long as you’re not hurting anyone.
Making jokes about my dad’s death was actually probably part of my coping method. He did the same thing with jokes about his cancer.
If you can’t joke about death then what? I made jokes with my mother about having lost two toes to diabetes. Just couldn’t count past 18 anymore. She loved the manicures and pedicures insurance paid for. She was twisted.
My joking helps with coping with traumas. World’s greatest defense mechanism.
And I’ve been shaving my head for decades so I’ve heard jokes since the 90’s. All of them.
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