nabµf #26 of 29

The day had come when Pixel would shave his head. It was his last day of classes, so he felt it was eerily appropriate.

He text messaged a few people, e-mailed a few, and told the rest to tell everyone else. By the time he was ready, he fully expected an army regiment to come by and give him a 21-gun salute.

He also fully expected half-digested pachyderms to come by and stomp on rabid grapes all over his sister’s new white dress.

He was an odd one, that Pixel.

He was so odd, he didn’t even have a sister!

He chattered away incessantly until about T-:30 minutes when people started showing up. Being a natural showman, he told everyone within earshot of the coming attraction.

Being also a natural coward, he kept hoping nobody would and saying that he couldn’t start without certain people. (”Trumpet Rob: he has the clippers.” “Liza: Trumpie said she was coming.”
“Bertrand Russell: this would be tops for him to see!”)

As more people came along and everyone began to press him for a show, he began running out of excuses and resigned himself to doing what he knew he had to.

He picked a spot where they would do the shaving, but Trumpet Rob disagreed,

“pull up your pants, Pixel.”

Then he picked another spot, but the jerks that were eating there refused to move. Finally, they moved down to the Atrium and began the shaving process.

Then Pixel died horribly from some sort of cut to the neck somehow.

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