Zohan paused. He remembered. The cat, a vicious Maine Coon named General Fluffenstein, had terrorized three boroughs. Zohan had not fought it. He had simply conditioned it. Then, with a whisper of “ silky smooth ,” he’d transformed its battle-scarred mane into a feathered layers situation. The cat had immediately retired from violence to pursue a career as an Instagram influencer. Boris had lost everything.
“The cat looked fabulous,” Zohan said, finally turning. His eyes, warm and brown a moment ago, now held the flat calm of a man who’d once disarmed a missile with a bottle of Pantene. watch don't mess with the zohan
The poodle wagged its tail. Somewhere outside, a car screeched away in terror. And in the quiet of his salon, Zohan began to hum a cheerful Israeli pop song, the shears glinting in the afternoon light. Zohan paused
The second goon lunged with the taser drill. Zohan caught his wrist, whispered “ no static ,” and used the man’s own momentum to whirl him into a barber chair. In three seconds flat, the man’s wild, unkempt beard was sculpted into a perfect Van Dyke. “Better,” Zohan said. “Now you look like a poet. A violent, confused poet.” Zohan had not fought it