Sometimes it's all a bit surreal.

Especially when you're sitting at the bar of your local historic pub (which has a vending machine in the bathroom that sells blow-up sheep sex dolls, vibrators and viagra) drinking a pint of cider, watching one of the pub cats sleep on a bar stool, whilst Mean Girls plays on a plasma screen, its sound drowned out by a string of Garth Brooks songs. Meanwhile, a burly Welsh man and a small Indian guy stand at the jukebox arguing over whether to play more Garth Brooks or some Ice Cube.

Sometimes it's all a bit surreal.

Dear dude that used the toilet at work before me,

Hi.
It's super awesome that you enjoy corn. I like corn too. The good thing about corn is it's in so many foods. Like popcorn. And creamed corn. But you have my respect for sticking with good old fashioned corn kernels. You're a straight shooter. I like that.
If I might just make a little suggestion though; One of the benefits of corn is that it's pretty handy when it comes to the whole nutrient provision stakes. If you want to harness the awesome power that is Corn Energy™, maybe you should try chewing your corn. Not only will it help you digest all that corn, it also means you'll probably choke a bunch less than you currently do whilst trying to woof down those little-kernels-of-joy whole.
The other good thing about chewing your corn is that when I use the toilet after you, I'm not greeted by a tiny armada of yellow buoys, bobbing away in the bowl, marking the area in which you recently shat. As nice as it is to be greeted by your little golden battleships, I do prefer my toilets to be corn-free zones.
If you could look into the whole mastication process, it would be greatly appreciated.
Best of luck with all your future endeavours, corn related and otherwise.

Sincerely,

Jiminy

Hair things and blocks that stick together to make other things.

I saw a guy on the bus just now who had the craziest beard ever. Crazy as in, if the members of self-titled-album-era Whitesnake joined into some hair metal Voltron and attached to this guys, chin, it would look exactly like this beard. He may have been a wizard for all I know.
Dude had serious beard.

There were at least three distinct beards within the greater beard. Clearly the point of his chin was the no-nonsense, straight-up long greyish beard producing zone. To either side of this existed a small area which would be described as 'deep rough', were his mandible a golf course.
Needless to say, his mandible was not a golf course and he just had a shitload of long unkempt hair hanging off his face.
Moving away from the chin up towards the cheeks, there was the crazy zone. The area just behind his cheekbones was clearly receiving a rich supply of insane hormones. Or maybe it's where he shot up his crack, cos the facial hair here was the most abundant and ridiculous I've ever encountered.
Think perma-perm. Tight, bouncy perma-perm. It was like a hundred thousand tiny slinkys attempting to cascade down his face. I wondered how he ate, how many biscuits were hidden within, how many orangutans had given birth betwixt his dense growth. I wondered if there was a Predator lurking within, hunting down a team of commandos...
Whilst I was busy wondering this, the owner of the beard glared at me. It would seem I had been staring. Considering I'd run off on such a tangent, I probably was staring at him with a bit of a crazy face too.
What does he expect though, his face is basically a portable zoo.

I'm probably just jealous though, because I have the facial hair growing ability of an 8 year old girl. With alopecia. Facial alopecia.
I think if I collected all the hair I've ever shaved off my face, I could probably weave it into a piece of string that would be long enough to maybe tie around your thumb. Although I don't think you could weave my facial hair. The limited facial hair i do grow is hardcore, like tiny bits of fishing line. But not that weak-ass fly-fishing line, more like off-shore blue marlin style fishing line.
In years gone by, aboriginal tribes used to gather around my bathroom window and I'd throw them my facial hair trimmings and they'd hollow them out and turn them into didgeridoos. In return they'd make me beaded necklaces.
For reals.

The flipside to this is that I have totally kick ass head-hair growing abilities. The rate at which hair grows from my head is off the chain. (I'm sorry, but there was no other way to convey that)
I try to keep it on the down-low these days, but I used to have big hair. Like, afro big. When my hair grows long, it doesn't fall around my ears. It's not endearing. It's not even foppish. It could only be described as 'Furry Deathstar'.
Imagine if Macy Gray and a thousand blaxploitation actors from the 70's had a massive orgy in a big round topiary bush. My hair would be the love child borne of this tryst.*

A mate and I had a competition in our last year of high school to see who could grown the biggest afro.
I think I cut mine first, but mainly because 40 degree heat and 4 kilos of hair on your head don't mix. Also it smelt weird. Also, because I went in for a trim one day and the hairdresser said to me "Oh, there's a stick in here."
So i guess I lost.
The other reason I lost is that we were hanging out watching a movie one day and my mate was scratching his head, then pulled out a lego block.
He's not even a magician, so this was totally awesome. The only way i could trump that would be to discover a Duplo block in my hair and no one has Duplo except for 3 year olds and special needs people. The blocks are so fucking big that unless you had a designated Duplo storage room in your house, the maximum number of Duplo blocks you could have in one place at any given time was about 7. 7 rectangles that stick together. What a bunch of fun that is.
Even young Stumpy McNo-Arms from next door could play with Duplo.
What an unfortunate coincidence that his parent's surnames were McNo and Arms. And they called him Stumpy! And he had no forearms/hands. Terrible really. Such inconsiderate parents.

Stumpy did good? You did real good Stumpy. Real Good.

So I lost. My mate won. We both cut our hair and regained our standing as decent humans.
If I could have found some Duplo though, I would have been king. King of Hair. I could of had my own Hair-em. I would have been a modern day Robin of Locks-ley. I would have... err.. I'm out of hair puns.

Anyways, hair has been a prevailing them of late. The Girl just got her hair done and it looks pretty ace, I need a haircut because the afro is respawning and I need to destroy it before it envelops me and a guy at work was involved in a hair related incident the other night. One of the guys, Chris, was telling me he couldn't help overhearing the dude behind him speaking to someone on the phone.
Apparently they were calling people on behalf of a cancer charity and the dude was getting way too into it and asking some pretty inconsiderate questions. Chris thought nothing of it, but then he heard this little slice of fried gold:

"Oh so do you know anyone that's been through chemotherapy?"
"Oh you have been?"
"Wow. Did you lose all your hair?"
"Fantastic!!"
"So anyway, we're calling to ask for donations for...."

Wow. Nice work pilot-knob!
I'm sure everyone that's been through chemo thinks it's 'Fantastic'.
"Oh you're sterile too? FANTASTIC!"
I'm pretty sure when people are diagnosed with leukaemia they get a flyer that says "Need Chemo? FANTASTIC! Scared about losing your hair? FANTASTIC! You've got leukaemia? That's right- FANTASTIC!"

What a douche. I bet he had a beard. Or at least a bucket of Duplo.



*Ok, the use of borne/born is hells confusing in this instance. I'm going with borne, as nouns aside, I think it is the most grammatically correct form to use in this phrase.
Correct me if I'm wrong though. I think I'm a bit paranoid after the whole canape ordeal.

Also, include Art Garfunkel in the orgy scene.