A few years ago, Sammy, Wrall and myself had a show in New York City.* This was nothing special in and of itself; we had played in the city many times. On the drive, however, I found out that this particular show was going to be video-taped. Also not altogether uncommon. Here’s the rub: I needed a haircut. And bad.

*I just realized that I already wrote about this weekend. Remember? I sat next to Kristen Johnston, the actress. We fought over the authenticity of John Lithgow’s accent. (Not really.) Anyhow, the following joke has persisted, and lasted so well these last three years that I am unafraid of re-telling the whole story now.

Our first instinct was to call some friends and get a suggestion about a salon in the area that might give a “great rockstar haircut.” We tried that, to no avail. Folks either didn’t answer their phones, didn’t know anything nearby or cut their own hairs. Darnit.

Our second instinct was to slow the van down and watch for someone with an appropriately good haircut. When we spotted someone, we could pull over and jump out, asking that person who cuts their hair. That seemed brilliant, but flawed. Imagine:

You’re walking down the street, minding your own business, when suddenly a large van pulls over right next to you. Three guys jump out and run up to you, yelling, “who’s your barber!”

Fearing for you life, you respond, “you are!”

“Don’t lie to me!”

We decided that the whole thing would make a terrific SNL sketch:


As the New York crowd walks by, the camera pans to a young HIPSTER with a ridiculous spiked haircut of all different lengths. One could plausibly describe the hair itself as schizophrenic. A large dark blue van pulls up. SAM, WRALL and SCHUYLER jump out and rush over to the man with the hair.

Excuse me, sir. Can I just ask who your barber is, please?

(taken aback by the onrushing strangers.)
No, thanks.

We just need to know who cuts your hair, man.

Listen, I get it. I have ridiculous hair.

(a little more energized now)
No jab, man. We really want to know who cuts your hair.

(embarrassed, but angry)
Okay. You’ve made your point.
(pointing at his own hair)
It’s not your average haircut.

Three more guys walk by with very similar haircuts.

Okay, man, just tell me who your barber is.

Hey, I don’t want any trouble. Can you guys just leave me alone?

Schuyler, Sam and Wrall have moved in very close. The hipster, once taller than the band, has shrunk down in fear and is now surrounded.

Who’s your barber!

YOU are, okay? YOU are!

Don’t lie to me!

I’ll say whatever you want! You’re my barber!

I said don’t lie to me! I don’t cut hair!

What do you want from me?

I want to know what hair stylist you use!

(pointing at a building across the street)
Oh, you should have said so. That one there.


We’d have to expand it a little, but I think you get the idea. It’s one of a few ideas for sketches that we’ve come up with. When we get our big break* and appear on Saturday Night Live, we’ll make sure they include us in a few sketches, this last one included. I’ll share the others on the blog over time.

*More on our “big break” on Wednesday.