High Definition Alopecia

Male pattern baldness terrified him so much so that he lost his ability to leave the house for three months. Well, not so much a house but a shack. In the middle of the woods. With no windows. Painted blood red. And not so much three months as three decades. His monthly shower under the bucket which doubled as a latrine had given him a dooming conclusion that rocked his already fragile demeanor. The ever increasing clumps of hair hemorrhaging from his scalp convinced him he would never be the stallion of pride and justice he had sought to be. Testosterone would never drip from his Burt Reynolds-esque mustache as he mounted a steed while carefully, yet decisively, remoulding his quaff of pure masculinity. He was wasting away. His hogs couldn't even stand up anymore. The well wasn't drawing water anymore. His dogs were all foamed at the mouth. His whip had lost it's crack. And this was the worst of it all: His Blu-Ray player had mysteriously stopped working. He used to caress the buttons, getting so sensuous, to stave off the inevitable thoughts of total hairy abandon. But alas, the stripped wooden boards plastered of chipped pornography holding this room of solitude together could conceal no more. Laid bare; barren, sickly, and staring, the eye of the blu-ray will no longer lull him to sleep. He's like some sort of receding hairline off on the horizon; forever lost in a Rogaine commercial he'll never behold in HD again.