Pity those poor mortals milling about at the drugstore. I once numbered among them, braying and milling like sheep in limp-haired herds. Like them, I was satisfied to follow the same old morning routine, blindly accepting the shampoos of our forefathers, and their forefathers before them. But armed with only a dream and the coupon I discovered in the Sunday newspaper insert, I dared to switch brands. They thought me mad. They thought me crazy. But look at me! Look at my rich, easy-to-manage hair and tell me, who's crazy now?

They think I didn't see them shaking their heads, whispering behind their hands. Damn them and their tiny minds!

From the instant I entered my shower and squeezed a dime-size dollop into my palm, I knew that a miracle was nigh, and their ignorant fear did not concern me. As I coaxed the new shampoo into a rich lather, I could feel the revitalizing power coursing through my hair, electrifying it to the very roots. Like Archimedes, I sprang from my shower and shouted to the heavens: "Behold! Gaze upon my head and ask yourself—is this the full-bodied head of hair of a madman?"

With requisite small-mindedness, the "good people" now shun and malign me. The sidewalks seem to clear before my path, and my approach is greeted with the sound of slamming screen doors and the sharp click of deadbolt locks. Because I dared to pick the forbidden fruit of scalp hygiene, they treat me as a monster. But it is they who are the limp, lifeless, heat-damaged monsters. Gaze unto my head and ask yourself: Have I not created new life in my hair?

How they laughed at me at the drugstore! How they spat upon my dream of healthy hair! But they would think twice before laughing now, as I vigorously toss my beautiful, flowing locks! Again and again, I toss my lush hair as if in slow motion. I ask you, are these the actions of an insane man?

Perhaps it is mad to have hair this healthy and lustrous. If that is the case, then so be it! I embrace the moniker of madman. I care nothing of what others think. Let the name of Larson be evoked in the same breath as the other great madmen of infamy, as long as it is synonymous with the achievement of beautiful, manageable hair. If lesser minds cannot embrace my hair's newfound sheen, it is of no concern to me.

They chastised me for playing God. Their greatest minds barked amongst themselves: "God did not want us to have bouncing and behaving hair. We are men, not angels." Bah! I never intended to play God, but this luxurious mane cannot be that of a mere mortal.

A pity that there is no picture of me before the transformation, that these dullards might compare it to the glorious After, for I have breathed in apple-scented greatness, and I can never return to what was. If you cannot come with me on my journey into the unknown, then begone! And don't wonder what happened to me. Know only that I have changed shampoos, and I can no longer live amongst lesser men.