This entry was posted on Tuesday, September 13th, 2022 at 11:55 am and is filed under simple pleasures. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed.
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omg, I love these so much, and remember many of them
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I don’t dig kindness. 🤣
Give me a head with hair, long beautiful hair
Shining, gleaming, streaming, flaxen, waxen
Give me down to there hair, shoulder length or longer hair
Here baby, there, momma, ev’rywhere, daddy, daddy, hair
I’d let it fly in the breeze and get caught in the trees, give a home to the fleas in my hair.
A home for the fleas, a hive for the buzzin’ bees,
A nest for birds, there ain’t no words for the beauty, the splendor, the wonder of my hair
Oh say, can you see my eyes?
If you can, then my hair’s too short.
Flow it, show it,
Long as God can grow it, my hair!
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You probably have to be a certain age to hear the music that goes with those words 😀
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Guilty as charged; LOL! Thanks for a very pleasant earworm 🙂
My waist-length white and gray hair is a little hard to manage. I have been thinking about cutting it — but the HAIR earworm won’t let me.
I like it. Is the music set to a tune or something just for the advertisement? I am interested.
“Hair” was a musical from the 1960s. The lyrics Linda quoted were from the title song.
Oh, I have heard of that.
‘Hair’ was a counter-culture musical that played on Broadway in the late 1960s, back when I was a teenage hippie wannabe 😀
Reblogged this on wordrefiner.
Thank you for reblogging. 🙂
Love them all, and how did I completely forget about all those years of Breck Girls?
Duke’s is the best! You have to read the fine print!🤣
I was so sad when they stopped making Breck shampoo. It’s all I ever used going through my teens with long straight 60s/70s hair 🙂
These are great ads. The SIZE of the hair in the 80s was unreal, wasn’t it? lol
It certainly was. 🙂
That was a very young Joan Collins.
The poor mans Elisabeth Taylor.
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Skill without imagination is craftsmanship and gives us many useful objects such as wickerwork picnic baskets. Imagination without skill gives us modern art.
Life is like a helicopter. I don’t know how to operate a helicopter.
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Home sweet home
Bob's sister Hannah
Bob's sister Ada
Bob's brother Otto
Bob's sister Eve
Bob's sister Nan
A baby picture of Bob and his siblings (clockwise from upper left: Otto, Eve, Hannah, Ada, Bob, and Nan)
Bob's childhood home
Bob's mom and dad
Bob in his youth
Bob's cousin Alphonse
Bob's Uncle Ralph and Aunt Edna
Bob's cousin Archibald
Bob's stepbrother Herbie (who really needs to quit smoking)
Bob's cousin Chester
Bob's Great Uncle Norbert and Great Aunt Phyllis
Bob's cousin Saffron (who will do anything for a drink)
Bob's cousin Thorndike
Bob's brother-in-law Vinnie
Bob's cousin Orville, who loves the Green Bay Packers
Bob's nieces Lulu and Bitsy, the biker chicks
Bob's stepsister Eloise, with the twins, Rudy and Trudy
Bob's Uncle Henry and Aunt Rowena
Bob's niece Esmerelda (who likes to live dangerously)
Bob's Great Uncle Arthur up in Saskatchewan
Bob's cousin Louie, the grackle of grumpiness
Miss Screech, Bob's journalism teacher
Bob's nephew Winthrop, who loves sports
Bob's Uncle Seymour and Aunt Bernice
Bob's second cousin Schlomo in Brooklyn
Bob's nephew Baxter
Bob's cousin Darrell
Nigel, Bob's pen pal in New Zealand
Bob's sister-in-law Delphine, who volunteers at the animal shelter
Percy the Pickpocket, Bob's third cousin once removed (the relative no one likes to talk about... every family has one)
The Bluebird of Happiness™ (no relation to Bob)
A pair of boobies (also no relation to Bob, but included for readers who desire titillation)
A pair of tits (in case the boobies were insufficiently titillating)
Bluebird Bitter™, the beer they named for Bob
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