Bug Hunt

1430 hours. It's a dreary outpost on the planet Sixtopolis. We're at the verge of human controlled space and charged with keeping an eye out for humanities enemies. Unfortunately we've hit the mother lode if you will.

We've been invaded by an enemy force. Exoskeletal, large legged, possessed of a huge head and bulbous eyes. They are a vicious and ravenous species who know neither civility nor mercy.

It's no good waiting. Waiting is good for them, bad for us. We needed to take the fight to those damn murderous Orthopteras. I put my best man on it. "Just another Bug Hunt huh boss? I'm on it."

He's young and raw. Just out of the Academy but he's a hardcore killer. If Private Angus couldn't get it done then we were all in deep kimshi. As good as dead. Up the river without a paddle. In serious trouble is the idea I'm trying to get across here."Go get 'em Private." Morale is my job.

He picked up the scent almost immediately. He has a nose for trouble. Sometimes it even finds someone other than himself but that's another tale for another day. Today we're hunting bugs.

And the hunt was on.

The bugs are wily and secretive. They tend to attack in packs, ambushing unwary patrols and slaughtering it down to the last man. Pvt. Angus was on his toes, head on a swivel and ready to rock and roll at all times.

"Aaiiee!! I saw one over there! I think it touched me!"

Suddenly he was off like a shot, taking the fight to the enemy. It was an epic charge worthy of the Light Brigade. Or at least the Chihuahua Brigade. "Come back you fool!" I yelled but to no avail. Poor, brave bastard. Luckily the forces of evil scattered at the approach of his Chattering Teeth of Deadly Death and he was saved from being consumed in a horde of chitinous nibbling.

But we lost them in the dark and heavy fog. I had to settle the big fella down and get him back on track. He's a loose cannon but he's our loose cannon and when you're facing down the Hordes of Hell there's no better man...er, dog to have at your side.

Of course even the hardest charging soldier occasionally needs a break to take care of some urgent business.

In no time at all he was back in business (No pun intended), drawing ever nearer to enemies lines. We all knew that when contact was initiated all hell was going to break loose. Hey, that's just what we do. We're soldiers and Earth's last line of defense. Or maybe first. I sometimes get confused when I've missed my nap. Totally awesome, killer, high speed low drag naps of course. We were ready.

CONTACT!!! The enemy was found and pinned down. Intense, no mercy, all or nothing, Lord of the Rings style Battle was joined.

Combat was fierce but fortunately brief.  The enemy was routed and killed in vast numbers. The field was littered with their hideous corpses, their brown fluids staining the grass. The stink was great. And by great I of course mean pretty darn stinky.

Private Angus was magnificent. He waded into the battle with virtually no thought for his own safety. Probably with no thoughts at all but hey, that's what cannon fodder means. At the end he even managed to capture one of them. I'm pretty sure it was at least a General. Maybe even a Field Marshall. Private Angus handled the interrogation himself.

"Speak you vile, twisted crustacean from another world! Where is your headquarters? Take me to your leader!"

"Won't speak eh? Maybe a little slobber therapy is in order here. If this won't loosen your tongue I have other ways to make you talk! Hehhehheh!"

I went to check on his progress. "Private Angus Report! How goes the interrogation? Getting any good information from our little green friend?"

"He refused to divulge any information Sir. So I had to eat him"

"You ate him?!? Bad Private, no biscuit!"

"Right Boss. I'll be over here having a nap. If you need me just whistle. You do know how to whistle don't you Boss?"

I should have promoted Private Angus to at least Corporal for his bravery in battle but eating the prisoner demanded a demotion to stockboy. I called it a wash and we went inside for dinner.

So the fight is over and an uneasy peace reigns o'er the land. For now. We know they'll be back but we're ready. This battle has been won but the enemy is devious and has the advantage of numbers.

But no worries, Private Angus is on the job.

It's quiet out there. maybe too quiet....

Six

Fearless Freep And Yosemite Sam Walk Into A Bar....

And the bartender says "You shot my Paw!" Hahahahaha!!

Ok, so I suck at jokes but I am in fact an actor of, dare I say it, genius level abilities. I had a role in a movie where my character was supposed to fake an Achilles injury. I went that extra step and actually ruptured my Achilles Tendon, all in the name of gritty realism of course. Hey, That's just the way I roll. Nick Searcy Style baby. My rendition of 'Police Officer Giving Talk On Dog Park Etiquette' brought tears to many eyes. It may have been the pepper spray but I assure you, tears were shed in abundance. Which brings me to the topic of this post which is:

There's No Such Thing As Ghosts. Seriously You Guys. Stop Being Such A Pack Of Wusses.

Have you watched those ghost hunter shows on TV? You know the ones, where the hosts explore supposedly haunted places with lots of dramatic camera work and much screaming, hand flapping and general pants wetting.

They drive me up a wall.

They remind me of a bunch of 8 year old boys daring each other to go into Old Lady Maginty's house that's been abandoned for 40 years and is supposedly haunted by a ghost who specializes in sucking the blood from children who are foolish enough enter the premises without the proper specter proof blanket over their heads. Look into the mirror and say "Scary Ted Kennedy" three times and he will suddenly appear. We swear. Seriously you guys. It happened to my friends cousin's brother's Kindergarten teacher's fourth pupils younger sister. And she totally died!

They employ all manner of Ghost Buster technology like 'Ghost' cameras, 'Ghost' thermal imagers and super sensitive 'Ghost' detectors that shows cold spots, hot spots, room temperature spots, background noise, spooky spectral glows, theremin music and much other eerie 'evidence' of the presence of the Ghost of  TV Ratings Past and Present. The shows emphasize the Ghost Hunter's fearlessly going to places no one else but a double dared preteen boy would go.

I want to create and star in a different paranormal show.  In it I will fearlessly go into places such as abandoned IRS offices, eerily empty Congressional Halls and even the Oval Office that is reportedly inhabited by the Screaming Banshee of Scandal and just kind of wander around, all without saying things like "Did you hear that?" Or "What was that!?" And "Aaiiee, something's got me! Save me spirit of Calvin Coolidge!!"

I will pick my nose and flick the resulting booger directly on the Sacred Duvet Cover thereby insulting the Dead Scientists Brain In A Pickle Jar. From Hell. I will walk around and purposely enter a room while looking over my shoulder at nothing at all behind me. I will investigate spooky noises in the basement alone while wearing nothing more than a thin, see through nightie (Viewer discretion advised. Don't blame me you were warned). I will take a whiz in the Garden Of Evil Undead Buried Stuff. I will even pet the Fluffy Cat Of Disdainful Horror and The Black Lab Of Face Licking Death.

You'd watch that, right? I mean, it's gotta be better than watching a bunch of Don Knotts impersonators in a remake of The Ghost And Mister Chicken, plotzing themselves and running around willy nilly in the darkness embarrassing their friends and family and especially their kids who can no longer show their faces in school lest they be teased unmercifully. Won't someone think of the CHILDREN!?

Now all I need is a basic cable channel willing to pay millions thousands hundreds of dollars to a bald, fat ex-cop willing to go on TV and poke Poltergeists in the eye.

Wait. Did you hear something? What was that? Something's got me! Aaiiee!!!

Six

Memorial Day Kipling

Tomorrow is Memorial Day. It is a day fraught with meaning for all those who love liberty and the men and women who have given their last true measure of devotion that we may enjoy it's blessings. America is still ours, the sons and daughters of those who died to give us the chance to live free. May we never forget nor lay down the burdens we carry in their names. America belongs not to the weak and feckless. Not to the callow and vain. Not to those who corrupt and lie. It belongs to us, Free Americans All. We will never surrender what has been so dearly bought with the precious blood of our valiant dead. Not so long as one brave soul still lives and breathes to strive with the usurping evil. So many of our Brothers and Sisters are gone but we remember and we will never allow the enemy to desecrate their honored rest.

I miss them all and I am ever humbled by their service. I am unworthy. I will never forget nor surrender. That they deemed me, all of us, worth their sacrifice lends my spirit wings and I will soar or perish in the flight.

Six

Update: Daniel Greenfield at Sultan Knish may have said it better than anyone. Certainly better than I could. 


Memories

THOUGH all the Dead were all forgot 
        And razed were every tomb,
The Worm-the Worm that dieth not 
        Compels Us to our doom.
Though all which once was England stands 
        Subservient to Our will,
The Dead of whom we washed Our hands, 
        They have observance still.

We laid no finger to Their load. 
        We multiplied Their woes. 
We used Their dearly-opened road 
         To traffic with Their foes:
And yet to Them men turn their eyes, 
         To Them are vows renewed
Of Faith, Obedience, Sacrifice, 
         Honour and Fortitude!

Which things must perish. But Our hour 
        Comes not by staves or swords
So much as, subtly, through the power 
        Of small corroding words.
No need to make the plot more plain 
         By any open thrust;
But-see Their memory is slain 
          Long ere Their bones are dust! 

Wisely, but yearly, filch some wreath-
        Lay some proud rite aside-
And daily tarnish with Our breath 
        The ends for which They died. 
Distract, deride, decry, confuse-
        (Or-if it serves Us-pray!) 
So presently We break the use 
        And meaning of Their day! 

RIP Drummer Lee Rigby

Ex Bootneck has a post up at The Mellow Jihadi about the Queen's Soldier brutally murdered by two animals who deserve no more than a short drop and a sudden stop.Drummer Lee 'Riggers' Rigby, 2nd Battalion, The Royal Regiment of Fusiliers. Loving husband and father to two year old Jack. 



Farewell my brother. May you rest in peace and may God bestow his grace upon your family and your mates. By all that we hold dear your sacrifice will not be in vain. The monsters will be destroyed and your child shall grow up in a better world.

Six

Tornadoes

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

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

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

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

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

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 my envy 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

Your Cute Picture For The Day

A boy and his dog. Or is that a dog and his boy?

Isn't he cute?

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 British-Roman Song

(A. D. 406)

"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!

Buffoonery

As many of you know I am a bit....accident prone. I tend to fall off things and generally hurt myself like I have a grudge against me. I've always thought I was maybe just passive aggressive toward myself but lately I've come to suspect I may actually be stupid.

So the other day Lu and I were in the covered porch putting in a ceiling fan and a light fixture. No problem, right in my wheelhouse. The fan went in neat as can be and it was time for the light fixture. All was well until I had to make a critical decision; what part of my body to try and get between my more important bits and the concrete floor. Let me explain.

Take a look at this picture.

On the right we see a step ladder. On the left we see a wooden box set up on end so it's even less stable than one would otherwise suspect. Which one would you choose to stand on while working on a ceiling fixture? Of course the box. Right? Right?

See, I was actually doing the wrong thing and using that step ladder even though the box was right there. At one point I needed to get to a screw on the opposite side that I was working on. And that box was right there, looking all platformish and everything. I could have gotten down and moved the ladder but that would have meant walking down two steps and then lifting the ladder, that clearly weighs many hundreds of grams, moving it to a completely new location at least three feet from where it was and then going back up the two steps. And again, the box was right there doing absolutely nothing to assist in my endeavor to bring light to dark places. Talk about slacking. So I decided that the easiest, indeed the best, thing to do was to step from the ladder to the box. What could possibly go wrong?

As I put one foot on the box I noticed that it was actually a little wobbly. Not in that 'Weebils Wobble But They Don't Fall Down' way but rather in an alarming way if one possesses an ounce of common sense. Which I am happy to say I do not. Common Sense is not Manly after all and I am nothing if not a slave to social norms. Alarum notwithstanding.

One foot now firmly ensconced on the box I began to put more weight on it, preparatory to transferring the bulk of my...bulk onto it. I must admit that the box not only continued to show that it was less than pleased at the idea of trying to bear my weight but actually began to oscillate slightly, as if it were a very small horse being confronted by a very fat rider. I am almost certain I heard a disembodied voice saying "You have got to be kidding!"

Undeterred and trusting to my cat like reflexes honed over decades of drinking beer while watching the X Games, I continued the process of stepping onto The Box as I have since come to think of it. At one point I had most of my weight on The Box and was just beginning to lift my trailing foot for the final move that would see me triumphantly standing upright upon The Box and in position to get at that recalcitrant screw without having to get down and move the ladder when disaster struck. Totally and, I'd like to stress this point, without any warning at all except for the wild gyrations and aforementioned tiny horse bucking motions.

As I stepped fully onto it, The Box began to sway to and fro and then suddenly toppled and generally collapsed. As it did so I found myself suspended in the air, Wily Coyote like, and had time to consider mistakes made and my imminent demise. It's funny how time slows down when one has committed a buffoonery of that magnitude. One that is certainly going to be at the very least painful if not downright hazardous. There I was, hanging in the air with nothing below me except a whole lotta empty and facing sharp, hurty things on the nice hard concrete floor. If I'd had a sign saying "EGADS" I'd have had plenty of time to deploy it before disappearing in a small cloud of fear, regret and exclamation points. I even had time for a nice long contemplative interior monologue with myself. It involved me, my Common Sense and my Ego with my ID and Super Ego off to one side taking bets on the outcome.

Me: Ohcrapohcrapohcrapohcrap!
Ego: Oh Man, I hope Lu isn't looking because this is really gonna make us look like goobers.
Common Sense (CP): I told you this was a bad idea!
Ego: Oh great. Now you show up. Where were you a minute ago when this disaster could have been avoided?
CS: Hey, I was busy. You try and pay attention to everything while this oaf works around electricity. I had better things to do what with the whole trying to keep us from being electrocuted thing and all. Besides, you know he doesn't like me and never listens to my words of wisdom. The putz.
Ego: Great. You saved us from having a bad hair day when we don't even have any hair and now we're about to make a nice fat hole in that concrete floor with our body. Nice work genius.
CS: You can criticize or you can join me in unconsciousness 'cause this is really gonna hurt.
Ego: Right. Off we go.
ID: Four to One he cries.
Super Ego: Five to One he cries and pees himself!
Me: Ohcrapohcrapohcrapohcrap!

My subconscious voices having taken a powder it was now up to my still conscious self to deal with my impending doom. All the way down to the ground the only thing I could do was to wonder what my obituary was going to say.

Local bald man loses life in hilarious buffoonery. Wife confirmed to be mortified with embarrassment. "I always knew he'd go that way. What a Maroon." she is said to have remarked.

Finally, almost mercifully,  I came crashing back down to earth. The world shuddered.  I could see a mushroom cloud of dust rising to the heavens in a surprisingly body like shape and hear the sound of various objects I had taken with me on my meteoric descent striking the concrete around me. I lay there for a minute, contemplating the state of my body and wondering if my wife had witnessed the scene and if she was horrified. I needn't have worried. I heard a soft voice cut through the haze of distress and chagrin. "You Ok there Evel?" I am quite certain I heard a tinge of laughter.

See, Lu has learned, over a lifetime of watching me hurt myself in various incredible and humor inducing ways, to look for certain signs of real injury. Limbs misaligned, stuff sticking out where such isn't supposed to be and blood actively spurting from large, open wounds. Absent those things chances are high that I've suffered little more than bruises to both body and pride. Many is the time she's remarked, "Um, you know you're bleeding right?" Only to have me say "I am? Where?" Followed by a quick search for the offending bleeding body part and her pointing it out with raised eyebrows and an exasperated huff. Yeah, she doesn't even bat an eye any more. Except to giggle of course because what's a truly spectacular catastrophe without the attending laughter such engenders?

I lay on the ground for a few minutes, gratefully considering that I had yet again cheated the Grim Reaper and survived another madcap misadventure. I managed to roll myself over and regain my feet, there to check myself over and conform that the worst had indeed been avoided. Yep, all bits still attached and generally pointing in the correct direction. Various twinges and scrapes but it seemed that I would live to again tempt fate at some future date. Hopefully not too soon. Lu was standing near, offering a helping hand and striving heroically not to laugh out loud. And mostly failing. She did take me into the house, put me in my chair and deliver a handful of Tylenol. She even cooed at me the rest of the day and inquired as to my state of being several times. I of course maintained my manly facade and resisted all temptations to milk the situation for more sympathy than I was due. That limp was totally not faked, I swear. I only cried a little and never peed myself even once. I think my Super Ego is out five bucks so there's that.

So in spite of suffering yet another calamity that was totally not my fault I have learned a great and profound lesson from all this. Next time I get it right. Next time I listen to my Common Sense. Next time failure is not an option.

Next time I start from the box.

What could possibly go wrong?

Six