​You think you know about mullets?
The year was 1985 and I was 14.
Hair bands had begun to take over the radio and I had successfully gotten served at a local bar aptly named ‘Hard Times’ thanks to a full beard and a smug swagger.
My mullet game was strong.
Once I had gotten comfortable going to the bar, I stepped up my game and hit up a strip joint. Bam!
Nothing to it!
The place was called Pinky’s, and it was notorious for all the right reasons.
I met a lovely woman of high moral character, and we enjoyed some coitus at her apartment.
She said she loved my “hockey player hair.”
Afterward, we snorted cocaine until my nose bled.
Unfortunately, she broke my heart, but I’ll never forget what’s her name.