I’ve thought long and hard about what makes a truly great leader. I thought about the person’s ability to solve problems, maintain calm during an emergency, inspire others and have true empathy (*GASP*) for others. Then I thought, “Fuck it. These things don’t have a damn thing to do with a person’s ability to lead. Well, at the very least, they don’t have anything to do with being elected.” That’s right; it’s time to face the sick, sad truth. When it comes to leadership, qualifications are all in the hair. Check this out:
This is Josef Stalin. He was a murdering asshole and ruled the newly hatched Soviet empire with an iron fist for over three decades. He killed a quarter of his country’s population and still managed to send the Nazis packing in WWII. This crazy ass son of a bitch kept a piece of Hitler’s skull on his desk to use as a fucking paperweight. Rumor has it he also had tertiary phase syphilis tucked in behind his third testicle. But that’s not what we’re looking at here. We’re checking out that fabulous ‘do. Go ahead, scroll back up and peruse that photo at your leisure. Lick the screen if you have to. That, my friends, is the hair of authority.
Lest you think I’m just blowing smoke up your asses, I want to take you on a quick photo tour of the Hair of Authority. (HOA from now on. No dues on this type of HOA, just lots of Aqua Net.) If you don’t believe me that this is THE hairstyle to have, check out St. Ronnie:
St. Ronnie was one of the shittiest governors the state of California has ever seen, barring Schwarzenegger. However, people loved him, canonized him and gleefully overlooked the fact that he ruled the country while Alzheimer’s slowly devoured his brain and his jelly beans. His secret? Hair of Authority, of course. People notice the HOA and respond accordingly. This isn’t an American thing. It’s an obsessive attraction that has swept the globe. Take Ronald Reagan’s partner in crime, Margaret Thatcher.
Even Indira Ghandi caught the HOA wave in her heyday:
If you’re on a quest for power, or would just like to be a dictator in your down time, you could always be ordained supreme leader of a country when you’re four years old. If you didn’t get that title or a pony for your fourth birthday, you can always change your hair. It worked for our Dear Leader, Kim Jong-il.
I want to introduce you to a local celebrity who’s a total famewhore. He’s on the quest for political greatness, notoriety and the presidency. I know he’s going to make it. Just look at that hair:
Look at that. They all have the same hair. I just look at that and think that if these men and women were “ordinary” we would all be dismissing them with a thought such as, “What kind of Eddie Munster shit is happening with that hair? Was there a sale on Dippity Do at the dollar store or some shit?” You know you would, provided you’re old enough. If you’re a kiddie, take a look at my man, Eddie Munster.
I think we can all come to the conclusion that if you want to be taken seriously in the political arena, you gotta get out your VO5, gel, and a comb and pompadour the hell out of that mess on top of your head. This is not negotiable. It worked for these men, it worked for Elvis, and it will work for you. Don’t just stand there, jog over to this link and check that shit out. I’ll wait. Here’s a picture of Johnny Cash sporting one of the most fucking-over-the-top awesomest pompadours ever.
Hair plays a vital part in politics. In fact, it became apparent that at least one California senate candidate plans to run on the “Don’t vote for the bitch with the whack hair” platform. Ironically, this shit is coming from a woman who just got out of chemotherapy. Like we don’t notice that the shitty carpet on your head is some road kill you scraped off the 405, Carly Fiorina.
Sadly, some people are not destined for political greatness. I mean, look at this shit:
This man will never become president. It’s not just because his daughter is a talentless skank. It’s because the man walked into the barber shop and asked the poor man to do every single jacked up thing imaginable to his hair. Frosted tips? Yes! Mullet? Check! Cum on top of the “party in front” to cement it in place? Certainly! Yes, Mr. Barber, just fuck up my hair in every way humanly possible. Seriously, I want to look like that drunken asshole that falls off the bleachers while trying to catch a free t-shirt from the t-shirt cannon at a NASCAR rally.
This is another man that will never become president:
See what’s wrong with that picture? Of course you do, the man’s glasses could pick up cable. I bet he’s watching free pay per view on his laptop thanks to those things. Coke bottles aside, I bet he could do with a really good pompadour. This hair thing is so serious; it can lead an entire nation to think differently about…everything. Take a look at the UK, for example.
The UK needed an upgrade. Dear God, they finally got one. It took some bargaining, a coalition government and a lot of gel. Here’s the new British Prime Minister, uh, well, nobody seems to know this guy’s name, but just look at that fantastic hair:
Upgrade! Candidates, be forewarned. Well–gelled is well-armed. If you don’t get that shit slicked back properly, the terrorists win. No, I don’t know what the hell that means, but I mean it.