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I don't have a mullet, but going into season one on 'The Walking Dead,' I asked to have a mullet, and everybody talked me out of it. Because I'd have to wear a mullet when we were not shooting every day. I have that motorcycle, wings on my vest, the crossbow... Maybe a mullet would've thrown me over the edge.

Thankfully, I don't have a real mullet.

For ages, I had this mullet until someone on the street stopped me and said, 'Darling, can I cut your hair for free? Because you look a bit weird.'

I wore a mullet to the Grammys! I have no fear.

I have a rat inside my skull that runs on a treadmill - pitta-patta pitta-patta pitta-patta. I enjoy the company of other people who experience that pitta-patta in their skulls.

Mullets are still going strong in the south and places like St Louis or the Carolinas.

At the risk of sounding like that old guy in 'Gran Torino' telling those 'young punks' to 'get off my lawn,' it's gotten to the point that whenever I hear somebody talking about Twitter or twittering or tweeting, it just makes my little tummy want to hurl.