Looking at the damage in Moore Oklahoma right now. Unbelievable. To all those of you in the storm's path Lu and I send you our prayers. If any of you need something please let us know.
Six
My Life Probably Won't Be Saved By My Dog
I love Angus a lot, I really do. He's a happy dog. It doesn't matter what
we're doing he's completely ecstatic to somehow be included. I'd say he loves
one activity more than others but I'd be lying, or running for office as it's
colloquially known. Walkies, runnies, swimmies, poopies. He loves them all. Of
course sometimes runnies and poopies meet and the result is somewhat less than
ideal but that's probably best left for another post. Still, nothing ever seems
to get him down. If I could harness his tail wag we could power greater Las
Vegas for a decade.
But a guard dog he most assuredly isn't. Oh he barks. There's nothing he likes more than a good session of "Hey! Who's that!? What's that? Did I hear something? Will you throw that ball? You will? Oh Joy!?" barking and general mayhem where he throws himself around the room convinced that the Boogerman is right outside the door and if I don't open it so he can run around the yard in a butt tucked frenzy we'll all die in a mucous catastrophe the likes of which the world has never known. The surprised look on his face when he finds the yard empty of any traces of Minions Of Evil always makes me chuckle in a slightly Mad Scientist who has just watched his Hero Nemesis step into his implausible and highly complicated trap kinda way.
But Angus never gets embarrassed or disappointed. He's always absolutely certain that this time the Sultan of Snot will actually be there and then he can save everyone by barking madly and dancing around with a toy in his mouth and trying to get someone to throw it for him. I've always been a little dubious about the efficacy of this plan but then I'm not a Labrador Retriever so what do I know? Angus assures me it will work perfectly so I'm inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt. For now anyway. He's a bit more sanguine on walks though. I've seen him scared senseless by a stationary garbage bag of leaves on the curb that had in no way made any threatening moves against him despite what he claims.
So the other night we were walking our normal route around the block. A walk we've done more than once if you know what I mean and I think you do. Now, Angus tends to get fixated on one thing to the exclusion of everything else. He's a little like a guy at a strip club that way. Not that I'd know anything about that. I just heard is all. Anyway. As we got to this one house there was a small male child playing in the driveway. He had clearly been riding on his toy scooter as it was lying on the sidewalk, kinda sorta in our path. Angus was zoned in on the boy as he generally really likes kids. I think it's because their hands are at his level and they often carry scrumptious snacks that are clearly meant just for him. Hey, a free meal is a free meal and a little kid with an ice cream cone is a gift from The Great Provider. So Angus is watching the boy, almost certainly hoping for a game of 'Feed the cute puppy' to suddenly break out, and he has completely lost sight of the toy scooter on the sidewalk.
Now I must admit here that I saw it and kinda, sorta had a hunch what might happen and probably could have steered Angus around it but where's the fun in that? The comedy potential was clearly very high and I do need blog fodder after all. Don't judge me, Lu saw it too and she was totally silent as well so I'm just going to go ahead and blame everything on her. The scooter was shaped like that gorked tow truck from that cartoon movie, Lethal Weapon, so there's that. Moving along.
Just as Angus got to the scooter he must have decided that the boy wasn't in fact a Magical Food Faerie after all so he began to turn his head back in the general direction of our walk. Now at this point we were still walking down the sidewalk so Angus had some forward momentum built up. He was moving in that kind of sidling, hopping, crabbing, 'is that candy in his hand?' way known all too well to any Lab owners out there. It's the "you can't get mad at me 'cause I'm still moving forward even though I think that's food/a squirrel/something shiny and I'm pretty sure I need it" walk that ensures your forward progress is as miniscule as your chances of tripping over a furry body is great. Angus was turning his head and must have just caught sight of the scooter out of the corner of his eye. He was suddenly confronted by what was clearly a device and/or minion of Immediate Impending Doom.
Angus jumped approximately nine feet into the air all the while emitting 'barks of agitated surprise' and 'gyrations of great consternation'. He cleared my head by a good three feet on his way in the opposite direction while simultaneously leaving a steaming pile on the ground in the neighborhood of the offensive toy. Stitches 'Crash' Squidboy, the current X-Ray Games concussion champ (douchetastic division) would have been so proud. I know I was. Angus hit the end of the leash at a full gallop, heading back the way we'd come as this was obviously an area free of nefarious implements of canine maimery. I figure he was doing about Mach 3 when he hit the limits of my retractaleash. There then ensued a tug of war twixt man and dog that could best be described as desperate and by desperate I mean hilarious. Angus was pulling one way with all his strength while casting incredulous looks at me as if to say "Flee You Fool!" while I was pulling the other way just as hard while trying to contain a bad case of the hysterical giggles. I know, I am a bad man.
After a minute or two of this I was starting to really question my decision to let this comedy/drama play out to it's totally unforeseen by me I swear conclusion. I even remember thinking "Was this the right, the mature thing to do?" Of course the answer is "I'll take Vexatious Consequences for $100 Alex."
At last we managed to convince Angus that it was indeed nothing more dangerous that a child's riding toy and with much snuffling and not a few accusatory looks we managed to circumnavigate the offending object and continue on our way. But 'The Incident', as it has come to be known here at Casa Six, was far from over. Have you ever seen a dog sulk? I swear, the term Hangdog was invented by Angus and if not he has certainly perfected the craft. He punished me for a good hour. He sat by the couch, close enough that he knew I could see him but far enough away that I couldn't actually reach him, and hung his head. Whenever he thought I wasn't paying enough attention to him he'd let out a small whine followed by a huge sigh. He even turned his head away in a clear snub when I tried to give him a chewy treat by way of assuaging my by now mounting guilt. Snubbed by my dog. I have now clearly plumbed the very depths of social ostracism.
But it all turned out Ok in the end. If there's one thing a Lab can be counted on it's forgiveness. Probably because they have the attention span of an elderly May Fly but I think that's profiling and I'm told that's bad so forget I ever said anything of the sort. Eventually he came over for pets and I even convinced him into a game of Tug O War. By simply picking up his favorite rope because, as I may have mentioned once or twice, Angus is a Lab.
And I have learned a great lesson form all of this. That lesson is...Wait, I had it a second a go. It's...No, that wasn't it. I think it was something about never playing with a sleeping dogs drool or the bark is funnier than the leap or some such. I never was any good at epiphanies. Oh wait, I remember now.
Underdog Angus ain't
and
It's a dang good thing I decided against arming him 'cause if he'd had a gun....
Six
But a guard dog he most assuredly isn't. Oh he barks. There's nothing he likes more than a good session of "Hey! Who's that!? What's that? Did I hear something? Will you throw that ball? You will? Oh Joy!?" barking and general mayhem where he throws himself around the room convinced that the Boogerman is right outside the door and if I don't open it so he can run around the yard in a butt tucked frenzy we'll all die in a mucous catastrophe the likes of which the world has never known. The surprised look on his face when he finds the yard empty of any traces of Minions Of Evil always makes me chuckle in a slightly Mad Scientist who has just watched his Hero Nemesis step into his implausible and highly complicated trap kinda way.
But Angus never gets embarrassed or disappointed. He's always absolutely certain that this time the Sultan of Snot will actually be there and then he can save everyone by barking madly and dancing around with a toy in his mouth and trying to get someone to throw it for him. I've always been a little dubious about the efficacy of this plan but then I'm not a Labrador Retriever so what do I know? Angus assures me it will work perfectly so I'm inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt. For now anyway. He's a bit more sanguine on walks though. I've seen him scared senseless by a stationary garbage bag of leaves on the curb that had in no way made any threatening moves against him despite what he claims.
So the other night we were walking our normal route around the block. A walk we've done more than once if you know what I mean and I think you do. Now, Angus tends to get fixated on one thing to the exclusion of everything else. He's a little like a guy at a strip club that way. Not that I'd know anything about that. I just heard is all. Anyway. As we got to this one house there was a small male child playing in the driveway. He had clearly been riding on his toy scooter as it was lying on the sidewalk, kinda sorta in our path. Angus was zoned in on the boy as he generally really likes kids. I think it's because their hands are at his level and they often carry scrumptious snacks that are clearly meant just for him. Hey, a free meal is a free meal and a little kid with an ice cream cone is a gift from The Great Provider. So Angus is watching the boy, almost certainly hoping for a game of 'Feed the cute puppy' to suddenly break out, and he has completely lost sight of the toy scooter on the sidewalk.
Now I must admit here that I saw it and kinda, sorta had a hunch what might happen and probably could have steered Angus around it but where's the fun in that? The comedy potential was clearly very high and I do need blog fodder after all. Don't judge me, Lu saw it too and she was totally silent as well so I'm just going to go ahead and blame everything on her. The scooter was shaped like that gorked tow truck from that cartoon movie, Lethal Weapon, so there's that. Moving along.
Just as Angus got to the scooter he must have decided that the boy wasn't in fact a Magical Food Faerie after all so he began to turn his head back in the general direction of our walk. Now at this point we were still walking down the sidewalk so Angus had some forward momentum built up. He was moving in that kind of sidling, hopping, crabbing, 'is that candy in his hand?' way known all too well to any Lab owners out there. It's the "you can't get mad at me 'cause I'm still moving forward even though I think that's food/a squirrel/something shiny and I'm pretty sure I need it" walk that ensures your forward progress is as miniscule as your chances of tripping over a furry body is great. Angus was turning his head and must have just caught sight of the scooter out of the corner of his eye. He was suddenly confronted by what was clearly a device and/or minion of Immediate Impending Doom.
Angus jumped approximately nine feet into the air all the while emitting 'barks of agitated surprise' and 'gyrations of great consternation'. He cleared my head by a good three feet on his way in the opposite direction while simultaneously leaving a steaming pile on the ground in the neighborhood of the offensive toy. Stitches 'Crash' Squidboy, the current X-Ray Games concussion champ (douchetastic division) would have been so proud. I know I was. Angus hit the end of the leash at a full gallop, heading back the way we'd come as this was obviously an area free of nefarious implements of canine maimery. I figure he was doing about Mach 3 when he hit the limits of my retractaleash. There then ensued a tug of war twixt man and dog that could best be described as desperate and by desperate I mean hilarious. Angus was pulling one way with all his strength while casting incredulous looks at me as if to say "Flee You Fool!" while I was pulling the other way just as hard while trying to contain a bad case of the hysterical giggles. I know, I am a bad man.
After a minute or two of this I was starting to really question my decision to let this comedy/drama play out to it's totally unforeseen by me I swear conclusion. I even remember thinking "Was this the right, the mature thing to do?" Of course the answer is "I'll take Vexatious Consequences for $100 Alex."
At last we managed to convince Angus that it was indeed nothing more dangerous that a child's riding toy and with much snuffling and not a few accusatory looks we managed to circumnavigate the offending object and continue on our way. But 'The Incident', as it has come to be known here at Casa Six, was far from over. Have you ever seen a dog sulk? I swear, the term Hangdog was invented by Angus and if not he has certainly perfected the craft. He punished me for a good hour. He sat by the couch, close enough that he knew I could see him but far enough away that I couldn't actually reach him, and hung his head. Whenever he thought I wasn't paying enough attention to him he'd let out a small whine followed by a huge sigh. He even turned his head away in a clear snub when I tried to give him a chewy treat by way of assuaging my by now mounting guilt. Snubbed by my dog. I have now clearly plumbed the very depths of social ostracism.
But it all turned out Ok in the end. If there's one thing a Lab can be counted on it's forgiveness. Probably because they have the attention span of an elderly May Fly but I think that's profiling and I'm told that's bad so forget I ever said anything of the sort. Eventually he came over for pets and I even convinced him into a game of Tug O War. By simply picking up his favorite rope because, as I may have mentioned once or twice, Angus is a Lab.
And I have learned a great lesson form all of this. That lesson is...Wait, I had it a second a go. It's...No, that wasn't it. I think it was something about never playing with a sleeping dogs drool or the bark is funnier than the leap or some such. I never was any good at epiphanies. Oh wait, I remember now.
Underdog Angus ain't
and
It's a dang good thing I decided against arming him 'cause if he'd had a gun....
Six
Sunday Kipling
We had a great day yesterday celebrating Angus' birthday. I thought he was a little too generous with the pictures but all in all he did a fine job filling in for me yesterday. I think I'm gonna have to change my password though. He keeps muttering "That damn cat" and something about getting even. A defamation lawsuit from a stray feline would be most embarrassing.
The days have been hot, the nights pleasant. Lu and I are counting down the days until DO and the kids arrive.
I'm currently stuccoing but only just a little bit. I hate doing stucco more than any other remodel chore. If we do any more I'll hire it out. Seriously, stucco purely sucks.
I hope you're all enjoying the recent spate of alleged humor posts. It's a writing itch I need to scratch. I'm just purely burned out on the serious stuff. I must take a break from it lest I lose those last few remaining scraps of what little sanity I still possess. It's also charging up my writing batteries though that may be either a bad thing or good depending on how you feel about my scribblings. It makes me happy and that is enough.
In that light this poem tickles me and not in a naughty way...
Happy Sunday to you all. Eat something hot and tasty, tell a bawdy joke and kiss the one you love best. I'm going to do exactly that!
Six
The days have been hot, the nights pleasant. Lu and I are counting down the days until DO and the kids arrive.
I'm currently stuccoing but only just a little bit. I hate doing stucco more than any other remodel chore. If we do any more I'll hire it out. Seriously, stucco purely sucks.
I hope you're all enjoying the recent spate of alleged humor posts. It's a writing itch I need to scratch. I'm just purely burned out on the serious stuff. I must take a break from it lest I lose those last few remaining scraps of what little sanity I still possess. It's also charging up my writing batteries though that may be either a bad thing or good depending on how you feel about my scribblings. It makes me happy and that is enough.
In that light this poem tickles me and not in a naughty way...
Happy Sunday to you all. Eat something hot and tasty, tell a bawdy joke and kiss the one you love best. I'm going to do exactly that!
Six
Cells
I've a head like a concertina:
I've a tongue like a button-stick,
I've a mouth like an old potato,
and I'm more than a little sick,
But I've had my fun o' the Corp'ral's Guard:
I've made the cinders fly,
And I'm here in the Clink for a thundering drink
and blacking the Corporal's eye.
With a second-hand overcoat under my head,
And a beautiful view of the yard,
O it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B.
For "drunk and resisting the Guard!"
Mad drunk and resisting the Guard --
'Strewth, but I socked it them hard!
So it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B.
For "drunk and resisting the Guard."
I started o' canteen porter,
I finished o' canteen beer,
But a dose o' gin that a mate slipped in,
it was that that brought me here.
'Twas that and an extry double Guard
that rubbed my nose in the dirt --
But I fell away with the Corp'ral's stock
and the best of the Corp'ral's shirt.
I left my cap in a public-house,
my boots in the public road,
And Lord knows where -- and I don't care --
my belt and my tunic goed;
They'll stop my pay, they'll cut away
the stripes I used to wear,
But I left my mark on the Corp'ral's face,
and I think he'll keep it there!
My wife she cries on the barrack-gate,
my kid in the barrack-yard,
It ain't that I mind the Ord'ly room --
it's that that cuts so hard.
I'll take my oath before them both
that I will sure abstain,
But as soon as I'm in with a mate and gin,
I know I'll do it again!
With a second-hand overcoat under my head,
And a beautiful view of the yard,
Yes, it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B.
For "drunk and resisting the Guard!"
Mad drunk and resisting the Guard --
'Strewth, but I socked it them hard!
So it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B.
For "drunk and resisting the Guard."
It's Someone's Birthday
Hi! My name is Angus and I'm two years old today. Hurray!!
Mommy and Daddy says we're going on a hike and then swimming and then Ice Cream!!!!! I'll be back later to tell you how my day went.
Angus
Hey, I'm back! We started the day with a nice cake. Mommy and Daddy don't want me eating too much icing so they made it out of canned dog food. Yay!!I love canned dog food, especially when it's shaped like a cake. And everything!
They sang some kind of song but I really think they were just teasing me. Plus I didn't get to blow out the candles! Poop!
Eventually they did let me eat it and it was extra yummy. The melted wax was my absolutest favorite part!
I didn't get a party because my Girl Child wasn't here to plan one. Maybe next year! I did get to go on a nice hike at my favorite place. I haven't been there since my Owie. It was so much fun you guys. Seriously! Daddy says it was two and a half miles, whatever that means. For those of us who understand it was four drinks long. Hurray!!
Then, best of all, OhJoyOhJoyOhJoyOhJoy I got ice cream!!! Double Hurray and Yay!! I even got the big boy cone this year because now I'm a big boy. And everything!
I got to eat it right down to the crunchy part. It was soooo good! I love ice cream you guys. Seriously!
Then we went home for a nice nap on my favorite floor. It's soft and smells like family. It's right under the big whirly thing that makes a cool breeze. I love that thing!
It was the very goodest best day ever. Daddy says we can go swimming later and then we get to have our evening Walkies where I can say hi to my very bestest friends Mister Horses, Mister Goats and Mister Cows. Hurray!!!
Mommy and Daddy says that my birth and coming into their lives was one of the happiest days ever. Well of course! I'm a happy, lovable Labrador retriever. Who wouldn't love me?
I love my life and my family and I hope you all had a day as good as mine though there's no way because did I mention I got ice cream and it was the big boy cone this year?
Hurray!!!
Much love.
Angus
Redneck Engineering
With apologies to my buddy TheRedneckEngineer.
While driving out for our first MTB ride of the year (more on that later) Lu and I saw this and we just had to get a picture. It was mounted firmly so definitely not something he was 'just transporting for a friend'.
I know this area is called Utah's Dixie but come on. Though it does look like something I'd do. Car Guy would kill me of course.
Six
While driving out for our first MTB ride of the year (more on that later) Lu and I saw this and we just had to get a picture. It was mounted firmly so definitely not something he was 'just transporting for a friend'.
Six
Career Day
It's Career Day! Well, not really I just wanted to talk about jobs and stuff. Still, I am nothing if not a giver so here's a cute little song featuring kids and hats. I seem to have an unseemly preoccupation with hats these days.
Careers are funny things. Sometimes we choose them and sometimes they choose us. Take me for example. "Please!" as my wife would say but then she thinks Henny Youngman was a historian so what does she know. I was seemingly born to be a Soldier and Cop. I can take abuse (witness the aforementioned wife), look reasonable in blue wool serge and love wearing bus driver caps.
I could never have turned to a life of crime. Stealing, lying, all those buried bodies. And that's just local politics. Still, I seemed destined for a life in uniform. But that's not what I wanted. I didn't want the violence, the late nights, the bad porn mustache. When I was a lad I wanted something else, something refined and genteel. Something that didn't require exposing my tender skin to danger and the heartbreak of jock itch. Oh no my friends. I wanted to be....
A ballerina.
Not a ballet dancer like Rudolf Nureyev but a ballerina like Anna Pavlova. Wearing leotards and a pink Tutu. Flowing gracefully across the stage performing Croise Derrieres and Efface Derrieres. Heh heh. Derriere.
But, alas, it was not to be and why you may very well ask. I mean, I wouldn't ask because I'm just naturally incurious but you could. Anytime now. Ok, I'll just answer.
Because Racism, that's why. Apparently bald, clumsy, middle aged, fat men cannot be ballerinas. As if that were some cosmic reality writ large upon the vast continuum of the ethereal universality. Yeah. I went there. I guess ballerinas must be thin, beautiful and of the gender known as 'Female'. So I never got to realize my dream of dancing Swan Lake at Bubba's Repertory Theater and Rib Joint where every Friday is Hoe Down day. But that doesn't mean I don't still have that urge every once in a while...
Such grace. Such beauty. Such brain freezing awesomeness. Once seen it can never be unseen and you'll never view ballet the same way ever, ever again.
You're welcome.
Six
Careers are funny things. Sometimes we choose them and sometimes they choose us. Take me for example. "Please!" as my wife would say but then she thinks Henny Youngman was a historian so what does she know. I was seemingly born to be a Soldier and Cop. I can take abuse (witness the aforementioned wife), look reasonable in blue wool serge and love wearing bus driver caps.
A ballerina.
Not a ballet dancer like Rudolf Nureyev but a ballerina like Anna Pavlova. Wearing leotards and a pink Tutu. Flowing gracefully across the stage performing Croise Derrieres and Efface Derrieres. Heh heh. Derriere.
But, alas, it was not to be and why you may very well ask. I mean, I wouldn't ask because I'm just naturally incurious but you could. Anytime now. Ok, I'll just answer.
Because Racism, that's why. Apparently bald, clumsy, middle aged, fat men cannot be ballerinas. As if that were some cosmic reality writ large upon the vast continuum of the ethereal universality. Yeah. I went there. I guess ballerinas must be thin, beautiful and of the gender known as 'Female'. So I never got to realize my dream of dancing Swan Lake at Bubba's Repertory Theater and Rib Joint where every Friday is Hoe Down day. But that doesn't mean I don't still have that urge every once in a while...
Such grace. Such beauty. Such brain freezing awesomeness. Once seen it can never be unseen and you'll never view ballet the same way ever, ever again.
You're welcome.
Six
Sunday Kipling
This is my first without her. To all those Mothers out there, your sons and daughters love you more than we can say.
Six
Six
Mother o' Mine
DEDICATION TO "THE LIGHT THAT FAILED"If I were hanged on the highest hill, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine! I know whose love would follow me still, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine! If I were drowned in the deepest sea, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine! I know whose tears would come down to me, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine! If I were damned of body and soul, I know whose prayers would make me whole, Mother o' mine, O mother o' mine!
Bald Head Care - Or Why I DO NOT Need A Keeper
I'm bald. I am a bald man. I suffer from the heartbreak of male pattern baldness. I have no hair if you're not getting the gist here. I'm Ok with it. I can stick my head out a car window with nary a muss. A washrag is my comb. My 'hair product' consists of soap and...well just soap I guess. And none of that fru fru stuff either. Man soap like Lava and Lye. Good, take it down to the Hypodermis and make it bleed soap.
Of course there are some drawbacks. In the interest of education for all you who are contemplating male pattern baldness for fun and profit yourself I present my Guide To Hairless Head Safety.
First off you'll need to choose the manner in which you render your scalp hirsuteless. Yeah, you can go down to the local barbershop (not a salon mind you, those people are completely humorless about hairlessness) and spend hundreds of hours and thousands of dollars rendering your noggin smooth as a baby's posterior but why bother when you can easily accomplish the same thing from the comfort of your very own home and at a fraction of the cost.
There is a wide variety of razor choices out there. I recommend doing your homework. After you're done with that you can go ahead and pick out a razor. Hey, education is everything right? Here are the only choices available based on my exhaustive and thorough research consisting of seeing what I had in the house and taking pictures of them.
No. Absolutely not. These are weapons of mass destruction used only by deranged barbers who also dabble in bleeding as a cure for Lanchonophobia. Many an ear or other head protrusion has fallen victim to these implements of horror. Plus your wife may decide to 'help' you with your shave using one of these whilst harboring resentment because you still haven't taken out the garbage. Not a goof idea.
Better but still has some drawbacks. Primarily it takes off hair like a politician listens to his constituents, which is to say not at all. If the hair is longer than .0005 centimeters (.0000725 hectares) you might as well just shout at it for all the good an electric shaver will do. It is a good time waster though if you're trying to avoid an odious chose. Like taking out the garbage.
Correct. A modern safety razor. Mine only has three blades and I think the newest ones have about seventeen but even a measly three blades will do the job nicely and more importantly do so while leaving the maximum levels of skin still attached to your skull. Always a good thing.
Ok, we have the proper instrument for reducing our pumpkin to Michael Jordan levels of hair containment. Now what? Well of course shaving your head. That's obvious but way too boring to write about in detail here. I'm a busy guy and I can't just go around talking about the mechanics of head shaving for whole paragraphs and stuff. I've got beer in the fridge and it certainly won't drink itself. So, let's take the shaving bit as done and move on shall we?
Head care. Now we're getting to the meat of the issue. See, your head is less like this
And more like this
Eggs are surprisingly hard and durable. Unless struck with something harder and more durable like a hammer of course but that goes without saying. No, your melon is more like an Orange. Roundish with bumps and crevices and all sorts of delicate bits. It will also not respond well to a hammer but, unlike an egg, it also won't respond well to sharp things as we shall see shortly. Keep this in mind. There will be a test at the end of this post. Oranges not Eggs.
Once your head is deprived of it's natural and beautiful covering of fur like substances you must take special care to avoid certain commonly occurring situations and objects. Like the Sun. I recommend a good sunscreen with a minimum SPF of 5000. For a newly shorn cabeza 45 just isn't going to do it. If you can't find SPF in the thousand range I recommend multiple applications of whatever you can find in your medicine cabinet. Maybe a hundred or so layers but experimentation will help you here. Remember, if it won't protect against Uranium 235 you probably need another coat or two. Actually, automotive paint wouldn't be too much. A good Spackle knife will work wonders here.
Head coverings are crucial. I know, you just shaved your head and want to show it off in all it's pale, waxy glory but think safety first here. It's far more important to keep the scalp lacerations down to a minimum rather than impressing the ladies with your hard boiled detective routine. Here's my recommendations on protective head wear. Remember, these are just my choices but I think you'll find them pretty much all encompassing and obviously the best due to my just having said so.
Maybe. If you want to look like a complete goober. Fortunately I do so I have these in a variety of shapes, styles and colors. Nothing says 'Hey, I'm excellent potential DNA doner material' to the ladies like one of these bad boys.
My normal, routine, daily wear. I have them in black and blue so dark it looks like black. Hey, variety is the spice of life. Plus they're really hot in the Summer so I've got that going for me. Nothing sexier than head sweat I always say.
You may be asking yourself this question. "I know Six is awesome and knowledgeable and handsome and all but why is he talking about hats? And why am I still reading this drivel anyway? I have better things to do like take out the garbage as my lovely and has no access to sharp things wife asked me to weeks ago." It's a good question and I'll answer it even though it's not yet time for the QandA section. Hats are important to those of us who ascribe to the Alopecia Universalis lifestyle because of things like this.
Low hanging objects, or 'Idiot Detection Devices', are a constant hazard to the less hirsute. Especially those of us who suffer from Moronic Melonitus Conkus Syndrome which causes us to incessantly bang into things we have seen approximately 10 billion times before and which any 5 year old could avoid with ease. Through no fault of our own I'd add. I'd like that on the record here because at this point some of you may be considering the idea that I might need a full time keeper. I don't, I just need a larger cranial capacity. And a good football helmet. But I digress, we were talking about hats here. Why hats? Why indeed.
Honestly, I have absolutely no idea.
I hope anyone considering head shaving as a substitute for toupees, combovers, hair transplants and wearing a dead cat on your head have found this missive useful. I support you completely and can definitely testify to the benefits of going topless, as it were. If you're one of those who is cursed with a full head of thick, luxuriant, beautiful hair I can only convey myenvy condolences.
I hate you. Uh, I mean love. Right, that's it. I love you in that whole wishing for incontinent pigeons to fly over you daily way.
As for me. I am comforted by this thought. If I'd have known him Telly Savalas would have been my best friend. I swear.
Six
Of course there are some drawbacks. In the interest of education for all you who are contemplating male pattern baldness for fun and profit yourself I present my Guide To Hairless Head Safety.
First off you'll need to choose the manner in which you render your scalp hirsuteless. Yeah, you can go down to the local barbershop (not a salon mind you, those people are completely humorless about hairlessness) and spend hundreds of hours and thousands of dollars rendering your noggin smooth as a baby's posterior but why bother when you can easily accomplish the same thing from the comfort of your very own home and at a fraction of the cost.
There is a wide variety of razor choices out there. I recommend doing your homework. After you're done with that you can go ahead and pick out a razor. Hey, education is everything right? Here are the only choices available based on my exhaustive and thorough research consisting of seeing what I had in the house and taking pictures of them.
No. Absolutely not. These are weapons of mass destruction used only by deranged barbers who also dabble in bleeding as a cure for Lanchonophobia. Many an ear or other head protrusion has fallen victim to these implements of horror. Plus your wife may decide to 'help' you with your shave using one of these whilst harboring resentment because you still haven't taken out the garbage. Not a goof idea.
Better but still has some drawbacks. Primarily it takes off hair like a politician listens to his constituents, which is to say not at all. If the hair is longer than .0005 centimeters (.0000725 hectares) you might as well just shout at it for all the good an electric shaver will do. It is a good time waster though if you're trying to avoid an odious chose. Like taking out the garbage.
Correct. A modern safety razor. Mine only has three blades and I think the newest ones have about seventeen but even a measly three blades will do the job nicely and more importantly do so while leaving the maximum levels of skin still attached to your skull. Always a good thing.
Ok, we have the proper instrument for reducing our pumpkin to Michael Jordan levels of hair containment. Now what? Well of course shaving your head. That's obvious but way too boring to write about in detail here. I'm a busy guy and I can't just go around talking about the mechanics of head shaving for whole paragraphs and stuff. I've got beer in the fridge and it certainly won't drink itself. So, let's take the shaving bit as done and move on shall we?
Head care. Now we're getting to the meat of the issue. See, your head is less like this
And more like this
Eggs are surprisingly hard and durable. Unless struck with something harder and more durable like a hammer of course but that goes without saying. No, your melon is more like an Orange. Roundish with bumps and crevices and all sorts of delicate bits. It will also not respond well to a hammer but, unlike an egg, it also won't respond well to sharp things as we shall see shortly. Keep this in mind. There will be a test at the end of this post. Oranges not Eggs.
Once your head is deprived of it's natural and beautiful covering of fur like substances you must take special care to avoid certain commonly occurring situations and objects. Like the Sun. I recommend a good sunscreen with a minimum SPF of 5000. For a newly shorn cabeza 45 just isn't going to do it. If you can't find SPF in the thousand range I recommend multiple applications of whatever you can find in your medicine cabinet. Maybe a hundred or so layers but experimentation will help you here. Remember, if it won't protect against Uranium 235 you probably need another coat or two. Actually, automotive paint wouldn't be too much. A good Spackle knife will work wonders here.
Head coverings are crucial. I know, you just shaved your head and want to show it off in all it's pale, waxy glory but think safety first here. It's far more important to keep the scalp lacerations down to a minimum rather than impressing the ladies with your hard boiled detective routine. Here's my recommendations on protective head wear. Remember, these are just my choices but I think you'll find them pretty much all encompassing and obviously the best due to my just having said so.
Maybe. If you want to look like a complete goober. Fortunately I do so I have these in a variety of shapes, styles and colors. Nothing says 'Hey, I'm excellent potential DNA doner material' to the ladies like one of these bad boys.
My normal, routine, daily wear. I have them in black and blue so dark it looks like black. Hey, variety is the spice of life. Plus they're really hot in the Summer so I've got that going for me. Nothing sexier than head sweat I always say.
You may be asking yourself this question. "I know Six is awesome and knowledgeable and handsome and all but why is he talking about hats? And why am I still reading this drivel anyway? I have better things to do like take out the garbage as my lovely and has no access to sharp things wife asked me to weeks ago." It's a good question and I'll answer it even though it's not yet time for the QandA section. Hats are important to those of us who ascribe to the Alopecia Universalis lifestyle because of things like this.
Low hanging objects, or 'Idiot Detection Devices', are a constant hazard to the less hirsute. Especially those of us who suffer from Moronic Melonitus Conkus Syndrome which causes us to incessantly bang into things we have seen approximately 10 billion times before and which any 5 year old could avoid with ease. Through no fault of our own I'd add. I'd like that on the record here because at this point some of you may be considering the idea that I might need a full time keeper. I don't, I just need a larger cranial capacity. And a good football helmet. But I digress, we were talking about hats here. Why hats? Why indeed.
I hope anyone considering head shaving as a substitute for toupees, combovers, hair transplants and wearing a dead cat on your head have found this missive useful. I support you completely and can definitely testify to the benefits of going topless, as it were. If you're one of those who is cursed with a full head of thick, luxuriant, beautiful hair I can only convey my
I hate you. Uh, I mean love. Right, that's it. I love you in that whole wishing for incontinent pigeons to fly over you daily way.
As for me. I am comforted by this thought. If I'd have known him Telly Savalas would have been my best friend. I swear.
Six
Sunday Kipling
Sorry I'm so late today. Computer problems. Which really means that I got my typing finger caught in my nose and needed a boogerectomy before I could post again.
I think Gar Guy and I may be going on our ride fairly soon but we shall see. The California house is going on the market soonest. Our realtor says now is the time so I guess now is the time.
I hope this day finds you in fine fettle, happy and content. Lu and I are counting down the days until DO and the kids visit. 52...51...50...
Six
(A. D. 406)
"A Centurion of the Thirtieth" -- Puck of Pook's Hill
I think Gar Guy and I may be going on our ride fairly soon but we shall see. The California house is going on the market soonest. Our realtor says now is the time so I guess now is the time.
I hope this day finds you in fine fettle, happy and content. Lu and I are counting down the days until DO and the kids visit. 52...51...50...
Six
A British-Roman Song
"A Centurion of the Thirtieth" -- Puck of Pook's Hill
My father's father saw it not,
And I, belike, shall never come
To look on that so-holy spot --
That very Rome --
Crowned by all Time, all Art, all Might,
The equal work of Gods and Man,
City beneath whose oldest height --
The Race began!
Soon to send forth again a brood,
Unshakable, we pray, that clings
To Rome's thrice-hammered hardihood --
In arduous things.
Strong heart with triple armour bound,
Beat strongly, for thy life-blood runs,
Age after Age, the Empire round --
In us thy Sons
Who, distant from the Seven Hills,
Loving and serving much, require
Thee -- thee to guard 'gainst home-born ills
The Imperial Fire!
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