Hair Shirt

Revealed! The diary of a traumatized Shih Tzu, a local blogger's bedroom confessions and the wherefores of wearing human hair! Plus, the triumphant (and drunken) return of Charles Bearkowski.

Unreal didn't just fall off the turnip truck yesterday. We've been around. Rare is the occasion that we find ourself blurting, "What the fuh—?"

But that's what we did when 65-year-old Jus Wagner, a hairstylist at Great Clips in Webster Groves, called last week to talk about her human-hair apparel.

Unreal:When did you get the notion to make clothing out of human hair?

Jus Wagner: It came out of a healing process. I was in New York, and I was walking past mirrors, the tall columns in Macy's. I was looking at various mannequins and different clothes. I had short bangs and long hair, and I thought about hair being a product to make clothes out of. That was in 1980.

Are you from St. Louis?

I'm from Kirkwood. Raised in Meacham Park till 1952, and then I moved on Big Bend and been there almost 54 years.

Where do you get the hair?

I buy it from a manufacturer in University City.

People manufacture human hair?

Yes.

But then it's not really human, is it?

Yes, it is human hair. Like extensions — what we in the black community call weaves — it's that same hair.

How many items have you made?

Right now, three: a jacket that's brown, a burgundy cape and a black boa.

Are they heavy?

Oh, they're comfortable, they're just like wearing something lavish. They're glamorous — and for people in PETA. I had a gentleman in church the other night who walked up to me and said, "Miss, I don't know you, but I sure would like to touch you." And he went all over it.

Many people actually try to rid their bodies of hair.

Many may.

But you're thinking there might be a correlation here with sex appeal?

I don't think so. I mean, people are just — amazed. I was at Webster University the other day, and one professor was so involved in the jacket that he began to tell me what other items I should make, like skirts and all. He loved it.

Could the correlation be a selling point?

Well, I'm a saved young woman, so I wouldn't try to go that route. To snag a Wagner fashion, call 314-821-1719. Jus says they withstand the weather beautifully.



The Alcoholic Bear's Guide to Mardi Gras Drinking

It recently came to the alcoholic bear community's attention that St. Louis city officials and bar owners had contemplated (then dismissed) the idea of an 8 p.m. last call in Soulard on Mardi Gras Saturday. In this very newspaper, Rudy Piskulick, manager of Johnny's Restaurant and Bar in Soulard, remarked that "nobody's done partying at 8 p.m." on Mardi Gras Saturday (see Kristen Hinman's January 5 news story, "Drink Up"). Added Piskulick, whose waitresses adhere to a dress code that makes Dolly's Playhouse look like a convent: "Where's everybody going to go?"

To bed, naturally.

As an alcoholic bear who once consumed 36 cans of Rainier beer in one sitting (see the August 25 installment of Unreal), I know what it takes to 1) get hammered before sundown, and 2) hibernate when finished getting hammered. Last call or no last call, I hereby offer several tips for revelers to complete their partying before 8 p.m. on Mardi Gras Saturday.

Get completely destroyed on Friday night. Horses (or bears) with fresh legs run longer. Horses that try to run back-to-back races are destined to pull up lame at the quarter pole — which happens to be your objective today.

Wake up at 8 a.m. Saturday and have a bloody mary. Or three. Mimosas are a bad call, as employing the acidic orange juice-and-Champagne cocktail in a wake-and-guzzle will have you herfing by noon. Puking will only recharge your batteries, and you don't want that. You want tomato juice and vodka.

Don't eat.A no-brainer: The booze will go straight to your head.

Sponsor a "Fortyhands" competition that commences at noon."Fortyhands" is a remarkably simple game: Participants duct-tape a forty of malt liquor to each paw. You're not permitted to do anything — not even pee — until draining 'em both.

Cannonball two Irish Car Bombs. A couple of glasses of creamy Guinness stout will stand in nicely for food (see above). Glasses of Guinness with whiskey shots dropped in them, that is.

Split a fifth of Jägermeister with a friend. Guzzling a bottle of tequila is tantamount to drinking an eight-ball of cocaine laced with acid. Guzzling a bottle of Jäger is tantamount to drinking heroin laced with mushroom tea. You want the opiate effect.

Break out the beer bong. A switch to beer is inevitable — but keep it in fifth gear with the funnel.

Drink 36 cans of Rainier and pass out in a tree.Worked for me!



The Diary of a Mad Shih Tzu

A Freeburg man received a two-year probation sentence after police said he molested the family dog.... He was originally charged in 2004 with two felony counts of sexual conduct with an animal. One of the charges was enhanced because a person younger than 18 witnessed the dog's molestation.... [T]he child said Teufert inappropriately touched the family dog — a Shih Tzu mix named Max.

From the February 3 Belleville News-Democrat

The Diary:Sometimes I itch. I itch real bad. Some dogs, they do that stupid thing with their paw. Me? I just start biting. Doesn't matter where. Could be my tail, could be my haunch. I bite. I bite, and I bite, and I bite, and I bite, and I bite! After a while I don't even know why I'm biting anymore! But that's what I do. I bite! I could probably outbite that bitch pit bull down the street! Too bad she's spayed. People think that because I get brushed, I wouldn't stand a chance with a bitch like that. But they haven't seen me off the leash. When I tear into a can of Iams Select Bites with Lamb & Wild Rice in Gravy, I'm hungry like the wolf! Used to be an Alpo man (Filet Mignon Flavor), but no more. It backed me up something fierce. They said I got farty. Fuck that! Just air me out. Let me run!... YEEK!... I run fast! Nothing can stop me when I run! I'm like wind! Fire! Water! I didn't used to be good at it. I spent too much time with those ass-sniffers at the park. Now, I run! I run, and I run, and I run! I run! Sometimes I run until I can't breathe. I'm dizzy and I don't know where I'm going. I don't even know why I'm running. Am I chasing something? Is something chasing me? I don't know! I don't care! This is what I'm doing! I'm running! I'm running. I'm a fast runner! I'm so fast....



Local Blog O' the Week

"The Adventures of Converse Girl and her Fancy Footed Dogs"
mindytobias.com/blog
Author: Mindy Andrea Tobias
About the blogger:Mindy is a twentysomething "crafting addict" from Philly. Her passions are scrapbooking and observing the antics of her pooches, Riley and Simon.

Recent Highlight (February 3): So I've made a decision. Just as each man gets a gilette razor on his 18th birthday each woman should get a fake cancerous breast. Weird I know but breast exams are just way too confusing if you don't know what you are looking for. Contrary to popular belief, breasts are not filled with jello. They have texture. So how's a girl to know if its normal texture or odd texture. Perhaps we just need to feel ourselves up more. Sure, you'd have to figure where to store your fake boob but if everyone had one it wouldn't seem as weird....right...yeah..sure...

Anyway, the man is in town this weekend. Tonight we will see the Spankers at Off Broadway by ourselves and tomorrow we have an agility show out at Lake St. Louis. He's overbooked himself and yet nothing is firmed up. At some point I need to recoup from a long week but I don't see the time. I'm sure also he'd like some recreational activity so I a) need some energy and b) need to find some...well...hey, I'm on anti depressents. Does anyone here remember if I had a drive with the last boyfriend....its been 7 years and I've been on meds for like 6....hell if i can remember. Plus when I with him the esteem wasn't as high there was that whole joy of having someone interested in little old me. I seem to remember a whole lot more activity. Its really a toss up...happy non interested me or depressed corpse me and really sex with a gal who's offed herself just doesn't seem like it would be all that fun. Know of an Unreal-worthy local blog? Send the URL to unreal@riverfronttimes.com.

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