Light and hearty observations from a fat and ugly guy. Home of hackneyed drivel and ersatz-existentialist effluence. Choleric biliousness a specialty, since 1958.

My brain hurts

I shave my own head. It saves time, it saves money. But boy, is it a pain.

It takes a lot of work to end up as gorgeous as I am. My cranium, nude, looks like the dark side of the moon. I half expect Neil Armstrong to take "one small step for a man" on it each time I shave the bloody thing down. There are nooks, crannies, and crannies in the nooks and crannies, ridges, hills, valleys, etc. If it weren't my skull, it'd be a nice place to go mountaineering.

Why all the bumps and lumps? Years ago my father told me that I used to bang my head against the wall as I was trying to go to sleep. He and my mother would be slipping into the arms of Morpheus, and just before pass-out time he'd be roused by a rhythmic "thump...thump...thump" emanating from my locked basement room. That would have been me, your Nigel, sending out messages to the natives in the jungle via my own personalized head drum.

Come to think of it, that explains a lot, doesn't it? Finally, some insight into why I am the way I am: it's brain damage, people! It must be! Caused by me banging my head against the wall beginning about age 2...

posted by Nigel St.John Regina Smegmatica Howle-Raines @ 7:05 AM