Dmitri and his goons pulled out brass knuckles and a taser shaped like a drill.
“Now,” he said softly. “Where were we?”
Zohan watched them go, then turned back to the poodle. He picked up his comb. watch don't mess with the zohan
Because you don’t mess with the Zohan. Not unless you want to leave with fabulous hair and a broken spirit.
The third goon, seeing this, turned to run. But he slipped on a puddle of leave-in conditioner and crashed headfirst into a display of organic combs. Dmitri and his goons pulled out brass knuckles
Dmitri roared and threw a punch. Zohan sidestepped, grabbed a bottle of Moroccan oil, and sprayed it directly into the man’s eyes. While Dmitri howled and rubbed, Zohan worked fast. He moussed, he gelled, he blow-dried. When he was done, Dmitri’s thick, greasy hair stood straight up in a luminous pink Mohawk.
“So fluffy,” Zohan murmured, running his fingers through the dog’s fur. “Like a cloud that has seen things.” He picked up his comb
Dmitri slammed a photograph on the counter. It showed a man with a scarred face and dead eyes. “This is Boris. You humiliated him in the underground cat-fighting league last year. You did not fight his cat. You gave his cat a… a bob cut.”