GREENMUSE is a regular reader and fan contributor at antiMUSIC, the views expressed here don't necessarily reflect those of antiMUSIC or our sponsors, but we are sure you will enjoy what he has to say! 

As well everyone knows I have an unhealthy obsession with mullets and the other day I looked in the mirror and noticed I needed a haircut. But first I thought, �This would make a pretty killer mullet.� So off to my brothers� house I went. He toiled about with my noggin until from the shaggy unkempt pile of hair on my head, blossomed into a full-blown mullet.  Oh and what a mullet it was, I'd say right on par with Billy Ray Cyrus, circa early 90�s. Some may call that presumptuous, but I feel it�s not, given the knowledge I've collected on the mullet and like the commercials say, knowledge is power. So back to the story at hand. I hopped into the truck and went to find the right attire for my escapade. At the local thrift store I found the golden fleece of mullet wear. A vintage KISS concert shirt with the sleeves already cut out by the previous owner. It even had the mullet musk worn into it; no washing machine could remove it. This is the stuff of legends. When I got back to the truck I couldn�t wait to don this piece of Americana, so I just put it on there in the parking lot. I could feel the power of mullet flowing through me. I had a slight urge to drink myself silly with Pabst Blue Ribbon.

Well since I had the look down, I had to test it out; I headed out to a discount auto parts store, a mullet hot bed in any local. It�s believed that some species of mullets can only reproduce in the presence of such a store. As I went inside I noticed a couple of novice mullet hunters point me out to each other and snicker. Oh what a world the mullet must endure. Getting laughed at and pointed at. Remember when you spot a mullet; don't be so obvious as these wackjobs. Watch in awe, not ridicule.

So I waltz into the store and spotted a fellow mullet. So I struck up a conversation, whew this was the test, would this wily specimen notice I wasn�t a real mullet, would I be ripped limb from limb? This must be how Jane Goodall felt among the apes, but after talking with the mullet for a few minutes, I could tell he accepted me, probably based on the keen sense of smell mullets possess, damn I was lucky to have my stinky KISS  shirt. As this mullet was nothing to play around with. About 250 lbs, probably hopped up on some kind of homemade amphetamine. Really badly drawn prison tattoos. After talking with him for awhile about Chevelles and Camaros, agreeing that Fords suck, he bid me later with a �well I gotta be headin back to the house; gotta put this fuel filter in my car�. He left and I retired to my house to drown my happiness in a �sixer� of Budweiser. It was nasty but I didn�t care, I was living a dream. I never saw that mullet since. But as I sit here, with my mullet gone, it makes me feel good I got to live the magic he does every day, this story is dedicated to you Mr. Mystery Mullet.