From the Green Room: An Intervention with Connell

I think it may be time to stage an intervention for Connell McShane. 

Connell, whose nickname among the Money Honeys here at Fox is “Hottie McBusiness,” is abnormally fixated on his hair.  More than any straight man should ever be.  The I-Man fusses over his, but that’s an exercise tantamount to painting a racing stripe on a pig, or putting lipstick on a turd, whatever that rhetorical expression is, and besides, it’s really a moot point, as most of the time he wears a cowboy hat.   But next to Jersey Shore’s “The Situation” nobody obsesses over his locks like Money McShane.  Except maybe Marv Albert… although technically, that toupee of his doesn’t really qualify as ‘hair’, as the only thing keeping it from being considered a helmet is a chin strap.

Now, I am secure enough in my own sexuality to say that Connell is a naturally handsome man, in a wholesome, clean cut, boyish way; almost what you’d expect a fully grown Richie Cunningham to look like.  But for a couple weeks now, he’s been rocking a demi-mohawk; not a look that many men can pull off, outside of British Rugby Hooligans and the odd 80s Punk Rocker.  It actually looks great on Connell, but it does require a considerable amount of maintenance.  Chris, our Hairdresser here in Studio G, has to apply copious amounts of pomade to the McShane Mane each morning, so as to achieve the “lift” necessary to complete the look.  I haven’t seen that much product since a community theatre production of “Grease.”  She ladles it on with a trowel, smoothes and spikes it, and then he stands in front of the makeup mirror for about forty five minutes “Juhjhing,” a term for “fussing with,” made famous back when “Queer Eye For The Straight Guy” was still on the air.   Connell is a “Juhjhing” maniac.  He spends more time “Juhjhing” than he actually spends on camera delivering the Fox Business updates.

Now, although he vehemently denies it, there is also some speculation that Connell got some highlights done.  There’s a definite sun-kissed thing going on there that didn’t happen naturally, if only for the fact that A) this is not California, and B) the sun came out about four minutes the entire weekend.  I would bet anything that sometime Saturday afternoon, Connell was in a chair at the salon wearing that rubber head condom thing with all the holes in it, sitting patiently as the stylist pulled follicles through the openings and painted them with a streak brush. 

So I think we need to call Hairdresser to the Stars, Jose Eber to come over, sit Connell down here in the greenroom, and tell him that he needs to get some help. 

Although, come to think of it, Mr. Eber also wears a cowboy hat.