Friday, 18 March 2011

Oh yes it's Hades night, and the feelin's right...

Oh no it bloody ain't, fuck jizzerry shite!

Due to the homely, intimate Fritzlesque cellar of Rock being closed off from the public (due to them forcing away custom by stopping cidiferous stockings of Jacques), Run With Us has relocated to The WhatACunt.

And although one had pledged to present my portly presence in person, aggrophobia* and extreme scaredy-catness may take precedence, and prevent public personal appearance!

And then there's the social armour required to venture forth, and do battle upon ye olde dancefloor.

Depite near-universal acclaim for the flat, fallen flowing follicles, the love of long lank locks is not one I is enamoured of. The legendary Preposterous hair and ludicous shades would lack the popular preposterousness necessary to pull off such a look. And such a popular, iconic look it is too!

However, the long, lank locks of a reverse Hitler flickover does leave the new nail in the noggin free of any form of mankyness getting in, whereas The volumous barnet of crimpage and backcombing involves what is known as 'Product', resulting in knottage and follicle fall out.

And thus, a half-coiffure has been attempted of unproducted half-temp crimpage, giving the benefit of a visage obscuring hairy helmet. Better armoury, but more than a hint of dulux dogerry about the upper frontispiece of facial physiognomy.

But is that sufficient to braven the craven fellow? Perhaps, as the cutiepie cutter of the cranial forestry suggests, I need a pipe to sign off that look and thus bolster my confidence an exude an air of authority! That one, missing element that will kindle affection in the hearts of Pretties, as opposed the present curdling of affection as I arsonate Jeff Bridges left, right and centre.

As Paul Simon (of the curtains and blinds) and Art Garfunkel (of the popular eatery) once said "I am a cock. I am an Island". Probably.

* Fear of going outside and interracting in a social manner. Also, fear of going out and getting cought up in a spot of aggro and getting duffed up after being set about with a stout stick).