My hair had a mind of its own so I cut it off. Had it cut off. Whatever.

Then I packed it off in boxes like roses and had them sent to the ends of the earth, to where people are less fortunate and their hair has less volume. And ambition.

Once there, my hair, it lay low and got situated. It took assignments with whoever came along - school teachers, tax accountants, nuclear engineers.

Then the day came when at some unseen signal the hair moved as one, curling up into obscene pompadours and duck tails and buns. Across the lands it danced and wove like amber waves of grain. It rose together and formed a nation, wrote the Declaration of Independence, freed the slaves, and walked on the moon.

My hair is really full of itself.

As Jean Grey's hairdresser, I learned A LOT about psychic cosmetology. Do you think all that red was natural? Some living manifestation of the Phoenix Force? Puh-lease.

While Jean is dead again, I've decided to spend some time here at Psychic High School in their Cosmetology Dept, doing a bit of teaching, mentoring, and career guidance.

If you're curious as to what a career in psychic cosmetology, aesthetics, or nail technology might be like, drop by the on-campus training salon and let's talk!

My hair got fed up with the new hair instructor. @Burly Ray was all "Jean Grey" this and "Medusa" that and "Oh, Dazzler blah blah blah" and even some crap about the Scarlet Witch and my hair had enough and just couldn't take it any more.

My strands throttled him, tied him in knots, picked him up and shook him hard. They wove around his mouth and wrists and hog-tied trussed him. Spun him around.

Then my hair rolled him into a cocoon, and I went to the store for rubber bands, and honey, and we made him into one big dreadlock.

When people ask me 'bout my dreads, that's what I tell 'em.