Thursday 21 January 2010

Hot Spuds, Consecrate fish, Put some gerbil on...

Clearly, 2009 was the year of wanton shite due to the presence of the malevolent moulet that was proudly presented from the very bowels of Hades unto the dizzying heights of Baremingeham upon the pate of a short fat old goth git.

It would appear that since the beloved cranial adornment became more of a flowing mane of luscious locks, Xym is no longer shunned by the populace, and the fashionable follicles have a fanbase all of their own!


Indeedy - gone is the unfathomable pariah status invoked by revival revilers of that great 80s stylee, and compliment upon compliment is paid to me in the street by many a barnet approving personage... with a somewhat consistent comment.


And what is this constant comment, I hear you not bothering to ask? The constant comment of confusion that was presented again today on St Stephens, after much makings of the fabulousness of the preposterous follicle stylings? Well...


Apparently, I have Rocky Horror hair.


And this not even when I'm tarted up in me guyliner and male varnish!


But what exactly is Rocky Horror hair, and why does it gain so much approval? Certainly, none of them there lead characters have anything like my hair... but wait! Who's that bloke stuffing his foolish fat face inbetween steps of the Time Warp? That can only be Xym...


Christopher Bigguns!


Or should that be Christ of Hair Bigguns!


And if I'm the Christ of Hair, then is it any wonder I'm being swamped with complimentary commentary! I am the messiah of the once-moulet... 


But, I would hope, without the mammarial vastness of the popluar pantomime doom's moobs.