The Shiny One, so called because of his blinding, reflective pate, was discussing something once again today to do with hair. The conversation between he and Chicken Boy concluded with the idea of creating a toupee for him from some of Chicken Boy’s curlier and less manageable hair. I, in my desperate search for fun and excitement in my job, suggested that we shave our asses to provide the hairpiece. One of my current vocabulary obsessions at the moment is with the word Ass-Hat, which I came across on an animation on the net a couple of years ago. It’s a lovely word(s) and until now I never had a context for it. Shaving our butts would, however, give the Shiny one an Ass-Hat! Wow. Now my only worry would be the multiple lacerations, geysers of blood and crap and Emergency Room appointments that such an activity would inevitable bring about. I personally love ‘wiggy’ people. Without them the world would be a much more grey and sober experience. I always have the urge to scream “Watch out: there’s a wounded otter on your head!” and then leap at them, brush off the offending article and jump up and down on it until I can hand it back and sigh with relief. I just want to do it and to finish with the line “I think it’s safe now, no need to thank me.”
It was during a later conversation today that I was struck by a similarity in words that led me to dream of my New Movie: Gnome Alone – Lost in the Garden. This would have to star Warwick Davis, the diminutive actor who starred in Time Bandits, Willow and at least one Star Wars movie, wielding a fishing rod, sitting on a toadstool and wearing a funny Phrygian Cap (look it up on Google image search – the ancient Turkish people wore Gnome Hats!) Think of the possibilities for a Gnome defending a garden against idiot burglars! Of course, Chicken Boy thinks this sounds like it should be a Porn movie, but then he’s always had a bit of a thing about dwarves/midgets. I refuse to use the word ‘Googling’ in the same way as I disapprove of Texting. They are nouns and not verbs. So, next time you’re on Google, have a quick look for the Gnome Liberation Front. Now THAT’s a cause! I think we should all join in and make it truly worldwide. These guys in France were taken to court for ‘liberating’ garden gnomes. They were stealing hundreds of them from peoples’ gardens and then RELEASING THEM INTO THE WILD! Go French guys. Now that really does make me laugh. Gnomes don’t. There is something criminally wrong with your brain if you feel the need to put gnomes in your garden. It’s a short step from there to having little wishing wells, using doilies and antimacassars and using the phrase “isn’t that nice?” Stop before I have to hunt you down. Incidentally, we have a French girl in our office and I’ve been informed that the French for garden gnome is pronounced ‘Nan de jardin’. I don’t know how it’s really spelt. You learn something pointless every day.
Ok, as Robin Williams once said: “It’s in the constitution. You got the right to bear arms; the right to arm bears; whatever the hell you want.” We have a tendency here in Britain to think of Americans as gun nuts. Our standard picture is of someone wearing a lumberjack shirt, a diesel-covered baseball cap, work boots, combat trousers and a beard you could hang over a balcony when someone shouts ‘Rapunzel!” Kind of like a cross between ZZ Top and the Dope Growers in the recent movie ‘Without a Paddle’. We seem to think that every American has a shotgun and a handgun and would shoot anything smaller than a continent if he’s got a four-pack with him. I may be right, I don’t know. What I DO know is that the Shiny One in our office has a stronger need for guns than any redneck, squirrel-hunting commie-hater. It is, I believe, impossible to say anything at all in front of him that can not be applied to some form of armament or camouflage. I have tested this theory today several times and tonight I will write up a list of subjects to try, like Rudolph Nureyev or Dick Van Dyke. I’ll grant you that we all have some form of boring nerd subject. Mine’s Roman History, while the Hobbit’s is Greek. Chicken Boy’s is midget porn. His is Second World War military, so that’s fair. There’s worse hobbies and interests. It just gets a little wearing when you say ‘Did you see that sci-fi movie last night’ to someone, and he interrupts with the calibre of the weapons they were firing and the name of the camouflage pattern they wore. I kid you not, you could find a rebel from the hills of any third world country in the world and show him it and he can tell you all about it. It’s scary. Just to like these two pictures together in your head, the Shiny One is a professional paint-baller (yes, they actually have a league) and goes to Florida occasionally to play at a place called Wayne’s World and to shooting ranches. I have played paintball few times in my life and the last time I got shot in the nipple. Now I’ve heard the many horror stories of being shot in the nuts. I gather it hurts. I’ve been shot elsewhere, and I’ve seen friends with wounds that make them look like they’ve been sexually abused by an aircraft carrier. I was, however, amazed at how much a nipple shot hurts. I was wearing two fairly thin layers, due to the hot day, and the shot hit me. I winced and probably made some kind of sound like ‘eek’. All I know is that it only really started to hurt later that night as the bruising set it and my nipple expanded to the size of an orange. Fortunately it went away after a couple of days, because otherwise I was wondering how you go about buying a brassiere with one cup. Fingers crossed, I’ll never receive that elusive nut-shot. I’ll ask the shiny one sometime to write a description and I’ll post it here.
Music for tonight is Judas Christ by Tiamat.