I always go to Turkish barbers. They serve a proper apprenticeship. It is a bit like barmen in ireland, the old barbers of Turkey. Same with Cypriots. Handy trade, like, hardly likely to run out of business and all you need you can carry around with you without needing a van.
Yuk Yuk Yolla.
The fun part about that is that the Turk's only do one style of haircut. I mean, in North Korea every barber's shop has a poster they stick up on the wall with eight slightly different styles of hair, of which you get to pick one and then live with it until next time. That they're all pretty much the same cut, training to become a barber in North Korea takes about forty minutes.
What I love about these Turkish lads is the joke they're puling off day after day in Ireland. The classic hipster style, which is - without a shadow of
doubt beard, the style your average Middle-Eastern terrorist wears: long beard and the bottom, then nothing at all around nostril to eyebrow level, then a little pile of hair turned upward and into a circular pony-tail worn at the crown of the head. And the Irish hipsters love it.
The cut is what it is because when Jamal the happy Muslim puts on his head-rag, the clean shaven area from nostril height to eyebrow height is where the rag is tied tight to his skull - and having hair under it tends to tickle and tug, depending which way you turn your head. I say your head, but you know I mean Jamal's head.
Irish hipster's walk around utterly oblivious to the sniggers of his Muslim neighbours who find his cuckolded hairstyle highly hilarious.
Half of those fucking dopes you see parading up and down O'Connell Street protesting Jamal, his religion, his language, his big fuck-off machete, and his haircut, are all star-struck by their apparently '
Oirish' hairstyles - and they feel good in it because every other (non bald) bloke has one. No wonder Jamal and the lads can't stop laughing at poor Paddy. Neither can the Turks, who are selling Islam to Ireland by the pound.
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