Macworld magazine announced today that it had found a permanent columnist to occupy the back page of its publication.
Editorial director Jason Snell said that the spot will be filled by a column written by Chris Breen’s hair.
Breen, the writer of the magazine’s Mac 911 column, is himself no slouch. He wrote an astonishing 6 pieces in the latest edition of Macworld, and also appeared as the magazine’s June centerfold.
But it’s a well-known secret of the Apple journalism world that Breen’s hair, in addition to being full of body and luxurious, is really the brains of the operation.
“Chris is a nice guy,” Snell said hesitantly, “but… how do I put this tactfully? He’s really kind of a mannequin for the hair.
“Yeaaaah. There’s just no way to put that tactfully.”
Snell said that when he found that he was more and more going to Breen’s hair for informed opinion about Apple, he decided to give the hair its own column.
This has even led to speculation by some scientists that Breen’s hair is actually an alien life form that has attached itself to him and is riding him around like a pony.
Breen could not be reached for comment, but his hair categorically denied the allegation.
Ponies!!!!
Number 1!!!!!
Rats! A twoie?
Jeez, where the hell have you guys been? I mean, Heroes has been over for 15 minutes.
Sorry John…
My ‘borrowed’ WiFi is running a bit slow tonight.
Woohoo! Top 5 and I read the article! My hair is pleased.
I wish I had hair like that…
I’ve met him and I can tell you it’s even more spectacular in person. It’s like one of those giant Mardi Gras heads.
Do I detect jealousy?
So it really is true.
Moltz is bald!
whoa! top 10. OK
Wait… hair on a pony?? I don’t get it. Wasn’t there a hair care product called Breen? If not, there should have been.
John, are you at all familiar with the persistent rumor that Apple’s CEO actually is a mock turtleneck sweatshirt…
Won one!
“This has even led to speculation by some scientists that Breen’s hair is actually an alien life form that has attached itself to him and is riding him around like a pony”
ROFL!
Could it be an intelligent Tribble?
Or is the column drivel?
Will we ever know?
Tomorrow will it snow?
Where am I to go if it snows?
Oh woe woe woe.
Last Week I Died – Antony And The Johnsons
It’s not the hair.
It’s the head lice.
First …. Plus Last at the time of this posting.
Am I late?
Wow. Just your average Thursday. A couple fifths of Cuervo and boom it’s Tuesday all over again. Chris Breen’s hair, huh? I always thought he was just showing off.
Has anyone seen my other sock?
YaY Pony!
I’ve heard that Steve also rides Chris Breen around like a pony.
Ah, kind of like how Martin Scorcese’s eyebrows control him.
Jeez — I was gonna go get my hair cut today. Now I feel kind of queasy and guilty for even thinking of such a thing.
It is not tribble, or alien babble, it is a one thing, and one thing only… Who!
Who you say? Yes, Who! I can hear them, can’t you?
All Who’s use computers, Apple’s not Ballmer’s, this much is true!
Horton heard them, and if you look very close…
Very, very close… you can see them too.
first!
oh, darn.
Of course it’s a Tribble – an old and wise one at that! It’s escaped many Klingon battles and just wanted to find somewhere quiet to retire.
I imagine now that it’s been given it’s own column it would be quite nervous at this point. Should the Klingon’s figure out where it went, things could get pretty ugly very quickly for our favored little alien lifeform.
Riding Chris Breen around like a pony is just a form of relaxation. For the Tribble that is, not for Chris.
What would a tribble do on a bad hair day, write a column about MS??
I have a recette implying hair like these, but I won’t telle.
Secret de Famille.
Anyway, it is uneatable.
Rip, what is your sock doing in my gratin ?
Frightened Cook –
If my sock is doing something in the cheese sauce, please don’t give details. There may be children about.
Thank you.
Yeah, children like me!
OK, I’m in my 39th year of childhood, but still …
Well, the article was fun but response from the Peanut Gallery could use a little help.