29. Listening to American stories

Hollywood Billy’s stories, like Yaya’s, were riveting. He had been through incredible adventures, done weird stuff and above all he had kept it all in his little camera for his best friends to see. Little-Hairy-Harry was witnessing a whole new world made of sparkles, flashes and cameras, and butts. So many butts! Famous butts, anonymous butts, sagging butts, some of them well toned, some waxed and some totally revolting. Apparently there were huge places dedicated to the life of butts. One could find films and TV networks, magazines, websites... He secretly promised himself he would check Stella out as soon as possible.

In the meantime, Little-Hairy-Harry was hooked to Billy’s funny stories. As a very special agent, he realized that supervising missiles being launched wasn’t the most glamorous job on earth. He wanted more. He was dreaming of that far far away land where all hairs were beautiful and tanned, and showing it off on TV.

Missile-watcher ? Seriously ? This was no true calling. Star hair in Butt-Land ? Oh yeah !

Hollywood Billy was lying on the ground, digesting the huge dinner Yaya had provided, some tomato juice still dripping from his goatee. Little-Hairy-Harry looked at him, smiled and finally got the guts to ask for his email.

28. Falling for Stella

« Hey Nitwit, come over here, I’m gonna show ya something awesome! »

Yaya was holding Hollywood Billy’s camera in his hands, displaying a particular picture on the screen. In the meantime, Holly was still grinning, very “toothily”.

« See her ? That’s Stella J. Hehe ! A cute hairette very close to Angie J. Not bad, huh? ».

Yaya winked at Holly, and Holly smiling teeth became even more prominent.

Little-Hairy-Harry was feeling a bit lost. He had never heard of Angie J. and he didn’t know about Brad P.’s most famous hair either, but Stella… there was something appealing and intriguing about her. Suddenly, his heart started pounding really hard and his hidey-hole became smaller, pfffft ! just like that. The situation was embarrassing, he stood up and looked far far away, hoping nobody had noticed. Yaya smiled, aware of what just happened.

« Hey Holly ! My friend ! why dontcha print that pic for H here ? As a souvenir… ».

« Yeah, yeah… ».

Little-Hairy-Harry stood still, showing no reaction, but a huge wave of love filled his heart, knowing he would be eternally thankful for his best friend forever, Yaya.

27. Meeting Hollywood

‘Heya!’

Little Hairy-Harry leapt within his hideout, turning in the direction of the voice. 

‘Who are you?’ 

‘Yaya, who is this?’

‘Nitwit, meet my mate, Hollywood Billy, straight from the US of A, passing through and totally cool. You’ll see.’ 

Little Hairy-Harry was surprised, then charmed, then smiled, because Hollywood Billy did look really rather amusing. He looked a bit like Yaya, but with less hair and some funny physical peculiarities. Most noticeable, was a weird gadget he wore around his waist. 

‘What is that you have around your waist, Mr Billy? I’m quite unfamiliar with it.’ 

Hollywood Billy looked at him gob-smacked, wide-eyed.

  

‘Yo buddy, are you kiddin’ me? That thing here? It’s a camera. I meet loadsa famous hairs on my travels and take pictures of myself with ‘em, as a sooovenir. Morelike to chat up chicks! Know whattah mean? My tricks work smooth with the guuurrls! A recipe for luuuv... Oh, yeah.’  

And Hollywood Billy gave a broad, toothy grin.

26. Going into puberty

After his shower, steaming with the fragrance of verbena, Little Hairy-Harry noticed that, hell’s teeth, but he felt a whole lot better!

‘You see, Yaya, I needed you. I needed to talk to you, to explain things. There have been changes in my life and I’m feeling lost.’

A little tear tricked down his squeaky-clean cheek. This time, leaving no trace behind it.

‘Poor little ding-a-ling! Come here and I’ll give you a hug. Poor thing. It’s not that bad. Your useless parents ought to have explained this all to you, yonks ago. It’s really quite simple, you silly doofus, you’re going through the grotty-spotty years... you’re growing up.’

At that very moment, Little Hairy-Harry  understood that his only family was right there. That the single person he could trust, the one and only he could rely upon, was his friend for life, Yaya.

‘Yayaaa! Don’t leave me, never ever again!’

From Little Hairy-Harry flooded all the tears in his body, and he bent, doubled over, over his dear, sweet friend. His tears flowed down the magnificent sheath of Yaya’s hair, leaving it unaltered in its sheen and colour. It didn’t even begin to frizz.

Just then, he felt the presence of somebody else nearby...

25. Seeing one’s mate again

‘So, silly nitwit, matey-mate. Whazzup?’

Little Hairy-Harry started with astonishment. He knew that voice, that wicked sense of humour. It was... ‘Yaya! Yayaaaaaa!’

He threw himself into the arms of his mate, his very shiny friend, at least, as best he could given the circumstances.

‘Cor blimey, nitwit, you bloody stinkbomb. You’ve grown up. Heck, but you’ve really changed. And ya got one hellofa stink on you. What’s happened to ya?’

Little Hairy-Harry noticed that Yaya was looking a little tight-lipped and was talking through his nose. He had also concluded their effusive reunion and was keeping himself at a fair distance. Yaya had cooled considerably towards him.

‘Oh, I’m so depressed... I’m weary of abso-bloody-everything. How I’ve missed you, my mate. If you only knew how much I’ve missed you!’

Little Hairy-Harry flung his arms wide, to welcome Yaya into them for an embrace, but... nada. Yaya wasn’t budging.

‘Listen, sweets. You take a shower and we’ll get back to things, okay? Sorry, old mate, but for a little hair, you got the honk of all time on ya. Woah! I can’t believe my schnozz.’

Feeling somewhat nettled, Little Hairy-Harry took a shower, grabbing the Verbena Shower Gel he’d ordered online three weeks back. 

24. Fretting

His morning wakings followed on, each one more bizarre than the previous. Little Hairy-Harry had lost his bearings entirely. The more time passed, the hotter under the collar he got. Then the colder. He dozed all day, said bugger it to everything, held slanging matches with his neighbours, and let time spool by in front of the telly. In essence, he needed help. Most particularly, the help of friends.

And of potato crisps...

‘Ah, a beer would wash down well...’

But no, no, and no. Little Hairy-Harry was well-bred and well-mannered and that should be the end of that. Except that… his personal hygiene left a lot to be desired.

‘I don’t give a damn. Nobody knows me. Nobody can see me in my hideout. I’m all alone, minding my bloody fucking business, and nobody is going to bugger around with me.’

He inhaled deeply from his armpits. Then struck by a sudden dizzy spell, considered that perhaps it was time to take a shower.

‘I. Stink.’

A certain manly pride took possession of his little hairless torso.

‘Yup. Fwoah. I really honk.’