Friday 14 December 2012

I learned the valuable lesson today: when you are not very good looking, stay behind a beard.

I have had shaves in the past, shaves after a long time of having a beard. Each time this has happened I have been doing the shaving and, as is the fashion, it has taken place in front of reflective surface so I can see it happening bit-by-bit. But this was being done by a barber with a cut-throat razor. And they tilt your chair back a lot so you can’t see the mirror. So at the end I was kind of like those people on the make-over shows who haven’t seen the make-over’s gradual effect and then have the make-over revealed to them. Except instead of looking better I looked a lot worse. So, it was like them I suppose¹.

Although years seem to pass quickly once life is monotonous and dull it becomes a very long time when it comes to ageing. Basically someone can age a fucking lot in 12 months in their mid 30s. And ageing in this sense generally means putting on weight. Even if you don’t put on weight you get fatter looking.

At least the horror of seeing one’s own face bared after months of hair covering was a distraction from the man in the next chair. His voice had the melody and pace of a really annoying brummy accent – but it was a Manchester accent. Basically it was just a monotonously dull Mancunian accent – there was no need to highlight the uniformly mundane accent of those from the Midlands. He wasn’t even having a conversation with the barber. He just talked at him – occasionally following a brief silence with a new subject. It was as though the guy and the barber were in a play and the barber had stage fright and the guy was bravely carrying on with his performance. Brilliantly he was being really fucking dull about his children. I mean it was nice enough stuff for someone to be telling their friends and stuff but going on about how cute his daughter was as part of small talk with a hairdresser? Great stuff mate she says has missed you when you have been away with work. How fucking interesting.

As you might have gathered I wasn’t feeling too satisfied with my visual appearance by the end of the experience. Why can no hairdresser ever listen to me when I ask them not to cut certain parts of my fucking hair? I walked to the bus stop under the shadow of my own self-loathing. More literally I was underneath an umbrella – it was pissing down. There were a couple of women there. One of them was very attractive and smiled at me – this new haircut/old face might not be so bad after all…and then she started talking in American at me. About God. And she was holding a bible.

Some people might take that as a message from God. A sign that the momentary sense of well-being from an attractive woman smiling at me was really inconsequential and that I took the sense of well-being from God’s love – that he had sent to cheer me up when I was at a low point. Of course it was just a fucking coincidence though wasn’t it? A random event in meaningless universe. For fuck’s sake God you fucking idiot, why can’t you just exist you fucking dickhead?

¹How did this work out for you gag-wise? You see at first it’s kind of all like why is he doing this simile about make-overs from shit daytime TVs? He has already described the process of the reveal of the actual thing so it is kind of pointless. But then there is like the bit where I say that it isn’t like that because there was no good reveal so it’s like total LOLZ-ville. And then you find out the real punchline is like a double agent and the joke is that both I and the people on daytime TV make-overs are ugly bastards: LOLZ-atropolis.

Christadventumorous Image #14: Werewolf Hobo>>>Convicted Killer


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