bedhead-ed

Introduction:
it is seven-o-clock in the morning. i went to bed sometime after 12:30 last night, which gives me enough sleep to put on a facade of cognition without actually having anyone behind the curtain. i have a test later today, and i'm not yet prepared; anxiety level is running higher than average. aside from these two things, what more introducksun do you need?
thEsis:
this should be that friends should not let friends write tired. but it's not. you're too late (or early, as the case may be)for that. real thesis: there are three different kinds of bedhead--the good, the bad, and the ugly.
bodY:
the first type of bedhead--the good--is the obviously the most mild of the three. the Mama bear, if you will. this is the i-did-my-hair-before-going-to-sleep-and-slept-in-the-most-awkward-position-ever-to-keep-it-that-way style. admittedly, i've pulled this stunt on multiple occasions, usually when i know that someone is going to "kidnap" me early in the morning, or my brothers are going to force me into family activities before i have a chance to look anything close to alive.
type numbero two: the bad. this is the average bedhead. it's generally not too messed up; a little frizzy, flat on one side, and a couple of curly roostertails for spice. this style is, in fact, increasingly becoming a socially-acceptable doo. it's usually accompanied by tight pants and heavy eye-liner. sadly.
as for the third, and final, type of bedhead, the best way to describe it is through anecdote: my brother's been growing his hair out recently, and it's gotten to the stage where there is a great variation in lengths, though all go past his ears and on a whole it looks like a hollywood science experiment gone wrong. think elephant toothpaste. it was in this circumstance that my brother retired. when we finally pried him from his bedsheets in the morning, it was evident that he'd had a hard night. his hair gave all the expression that his could not--it was as though a cottonball had been doused in alcohol and lit with a blond fire, then tied into knots by a brand new boyscout who was running around on carpet in his socks. such hair stood in blatant defiance of the laws of gravity except for a slight undulation as my brother walked.
and that is only the ugly for my brother's shaggy, overgrown mane. one can only imagine the effect with over twice the length and the stress of finals adding to the mixture. the ugly is not to be mocked. it is to be feared.
ConclUsion:
the day may come when you will encounter me, or some other helpless, psychotic undergraduate in such a state as i currently am: in my pajamas, slumped against my computer, eyes half-closed and bleary, hair half-way between the bad and the ugly, chewing on a pen and muttering to myself as an occasional tremor shakes both my head and hand. should this happen, do not walk away! please gently remove the keyboard from my flighty fingers, the pen from my mouth (there's probably one in my hair as well), ignore my senseless scholastic prattle, wrap my in a blanket, and send me to the couch.