In walk three teenagers. One was tall and had a shortish crewcut while the other two were shorter and had longer hair: one blonde the other dark brown. They all wore similar messy clothing- ragged T shirt and shorts with slip-on Vans. Sloppy, Sarge thought to himself.
They looked around as if looking for someone and then, not seeing anyone else in the shop, the tall one stepped forward and asked, “ Um, excuse me, Sir. We’re looking for our friend, Sam. He texted us to meet him here.”
“Ah, yes. He just had to leave briefly to get something but he said he’d be right back,” Sarge invented, thought a moment, then added, “while you are waiting for him, he said you could get haircuts, on him, whatever you would like.”
The two teens with the longer hair simultaneously ran their hands through their longer hair and the blonde one said, “I think I’m OK without getting a haircut.” The other one just shook his head no.
The tall one with the crewcut said, “well since I’m here, I guess I could use a tune-up.”
Sarge beckoned him over to the chair and caped him.
“So what kind of cut do you want, young man?” Sarge asked.
“Call me Matt. And just clean it up a bit, a number 4 on the sides and just trim the top.”
Sarge simply nodded, and pulled out his clippers and put the number 4 guard on the blades. He started clipping the sides of the young man’s hair, just like he was asked and then started talking to the youth. The youth mentioned that he was going to drop out of high school and that he was going to be a pro-skater. As Sarge cut his hair on the back, he started to grow taller from a respectable 5’10” to a massive 6’5” where Sarge had to lower the chair to keep cutting his hair. His feet grew from a size 10 to size 15. Once Sarge finished with the clippers he started to trim with scissors. As he did his muscles grew larger and larger—his biceps and triceps swelled, his pecs grew to the point where his shirt would have burst had it not grown to accommodate his size. His quads became as hard as diamonds. He had the figure any underwear model would kill for.
Now while these physical changes were occurring, Sarge pushed the mantra, “obedience, discipline, duty, honor” mentally to the man. After he finished trimming the youths hair he commented.
“You know, you would look better with shorter hair. You’re dropping out of high school. Doesn’t it make sense to join the military instead. We can give you a nice jarhead cut.”
The man responded in a dazed voice, “yes, sir. That sounds nice. The military seems like the right path. Make it very short.”
“Oh of course,” Sarge grinned, “nothing but the shortest for the marines.” At this point is was very obvious to Sarge what the rest of the youths transformation would be.
Without waiting for any confirmation, he pulls the guard off the clippers he used and began to shave the sides of the man’s head down to nothing. As he did this the man’s clothes began to change his ratty jeans were repaired of any holes and began to take on a looser shape. His graphic T changed color to a plain olive-green and out of nowhere a jacket began to form over of an forest green MARPAT with insignia that designated him as a Sergeant.
Sarge finished shaving the sides of the man’s head, high up to the crown, and then grabbed another set of clippers, and put a number 1 guard on. He then started to shear the top of the man’s head down to a short, 1/8th of an inch. His clothing then continued to change: his pants finally changed to match his jacket. His sneakers then expanded up to his calves and changed to a dark tan color as they thickened and gained a heavy duty sole. Laces then appeared through what became a USMC boot, which were securely tied on his massive size 15 feet and were perfectly bloused into his MARPAT camo pants.
When Sarge was done with the man, he didn’t need the uniform for you to identify him as a marine, it was his steely gaze, the erect way he help himself, and that feeling you got when you knew someone was a lethal weapon. The haircut didn’t hurt as well, it screamed jarhead. Lastly, a campaign cover materialized in his hand.
Now Sarge didn’t just perform physical changed during this haircut, he drilled in all the knowledge this man, now a Drill Instructor, would need to be a successful marine, and not just to be a marine but to instruct marine recruits in how to be the best marine possible. Sarge rewired his memory so that he joined straight out of high school and would be re-enlisting for at least 8 more years when his initial contract came up. He loved being a marine. He initially joined out of need to take care of his two brothers after his parents passed away, and fell in love with the discipline and comradery of being in the Corps, of being one with the corps and of spreading that feeling to others through his role as a DI.
While this haircut was commencing, the two other skaters sat with a glazed over expression—Sarge didn’t want them to notice what was happening and do something silly like run away. They very slowly began to change. They both grew from their modest heights of 5’7” and 5’8” to 6’2” exactly. Their lanky frames began to fill out slightly. The blonde ones hair began to darken to darken to a rich chocolate brown and the brunette hair color changed shade to match. Next their faces began to change—they’re eyes changed to the same shade of blue, their jawlines became more chiseled, and they aged slightly until they looked 18 or 19. By the time Sarge had uncaped the new DI—who he had decided would be their older brother— the two skaters were identical twins that looked like slightly younger, and smaller versions of the DI. The glazed over expressions then disappeared and the two new “twins” sat up straight with an expression of admiration on their face while looking at their new older brother.
“Looking sharp as always, Bro,” one of the twins said in a much more manly voice than he had entered with.
“Well, you would look sharp too if you got your haircut more frequently, Mark. You too, Will. You’re so shaggy you look more like mops them people” The DI joked to his new brothers, “Now why don’t you be obedient little bros and sit both your asses in the chair, it’s time for a chop!”
Both twins obediently migrated over to sit in the barbers chairs, “Make sure to give them a good shearing, Sarge. I want them to leave as men”
Hmm, Sarge thought to himself. So much potential. He was very proud of this idea that had come to him, to make them all brothers. And he had been dying to transform a set of twins, why not make a set of twins for this purpose.
I could transform them into twin marines, give them a matching high-n-tight just like their big bro.
Or maybe a set of sailors, just out of bootcamp with a perfect induction cut.
Or he could give them a set of horseshoe flattops. He hasn’t given a good horseshoe in ages. Razor shaved down the middle. Would be fun to do it on twins, he’s never given twins matching flattops. That would be one for the photo album. And with that cut they would be excellent cadets—maybe in a Corps of Cadets in NROTC preparing to become marine officers…. Or at the Naval Academy. Both have potential.
All were such great options, but how to decide. Then an incredibly simple idea struck him.
“Well what type of cut are you looking for?” Sarge asked.
(How did the brothers respond?)