The barber lied to you! Your hair looks like a 500-year-old Brillo pad. No wonder you shave your little dinky. Here’s a newsflash: the 1970’s are over and you’re 50, not 15, like the chicks you hit on. The old hippie look is over and deodorant is in. It’s embarrassing to go to the beach when you’re there because your mouth is so full of loud crap. And what are you doing at the beach anyway? Haven’t you noticed all that wrinkly fat under your chin that matches your pot belly? You’re beach rubbish. You need a tattoo that reads, “I’m musty, crusty and rusty—Don’t trust me.” Do us all a favor and move back to the mainland. Oh, and please stop calling me “Cuz”—we’re not related.