A-wah.. oh no! He's a Morris Dancer...

One of my Pretties today said they wanted some Morris Men.

Betcha don't find them on Uniform Dating Dot Cum!

Anyhoo - it got me thinking.

This time of year, Norwich tends to get infested with cider drinking dancing loons with scarves and bells...

...no, wait... that's just me going out on a Saturday night!

But there does tend to have an overabundance of men & women blighting various points in the City with their tomfoolery. And then it hit me.

Not clobbered by a bladder onna stick - exactly why we have so many Maurice Dancers. And it's all down to that agéd legend outside Primark: The Puppet Man.

Old and wizend beyong time and measure and sadly reduced to pawing at the air with a sock whilst singing along to Return my flashermac  by Our Kelly, in his younger days he lived in Foreign Parts.

Namely Hamélin!

And prior to pop and puppets, it was piccolo's and puppets! Yes - The Puppet man once was Ye Olde Piéd Piper! And Morris Men are the long lost children he led away to be groomed for a life of imprisonment and cellar sex slave seduction dancing in the street and masochismically bopping each other on the bonce with a stout stick to satisy the satyr's sadistical lust fulfill his street entertainment legacy.

Apparently, some got away from him. One rebel rebelled, and instead of More Reece-Pieces Dancing, turned his oral ordeal into something even more horrendous.

Took up the bagpipes and took up residence by M&S to inflict his screechy bladdersack upon ye City.

Other More Rice Dancers formed Tribes outside the City, and split into The Manics and The Men Of Kent.

Apparently, The Manics design for life was to black out their faces, whilst The Men Of Kent went for white shirts and Bowler Hats. It would therefore appear that The Piéd Puppeteer Outside Primark has been brainwashing them on a diet of The Black And White Minstrel Show and A Clockwork Orange.

Still, I'm told that Morris Dancers are so wonderfully British when they jingle. 

Although I believe Operation YouTree take a different view to mandems of drunken British blokes with their jingle jangle..

"Now then now then, what have we here? I have, on my hand, a young lady, who says "Dear Jimmeh, could you fix it for me, to become a Morris dancer?". Well, goodness gracious, would you believe it, I just so happen to have a bell right here about my person. Now then, grab hold of the bell end, and give that stick a damn good bashing about the head. That's it - sing it bitch! ♪ You're my Morris Dancer / a dancer for money / I'll what you want me to do ♫! Oh yes! Jingle Jangle Jewellery!  Me bladder-onna-stick's about to burst and bukkake your face. Uh-huhr-uh-huhr-uh-huhr!"

or something...

The only one-eyed gnome..

Has come to take me away...

Well, The Charlatans were almost right, for the Stamp Gnome oftens comes and takes my things away - usually right before I need 'em.

But not me - not even a misshapen dwaven lady won't take such a repulsive troll such as myself.

Anyhoo, 'they' say to beware of men whose eyebrows meet in the middle, coz they're either crooks or werewolves.

Judging by the thievery of the Stamp Gnome, quite clearly ye olde adage of ye olde baggage is correct - for he's a kleptomaniac crook!

But not a werewolf. For a unibrow, quite clearly is a single brow - and the one creature that legitimately sports a unibrow is the Cyclops!

Which makes the Stamp Gnome a dwarven Scott Summers, nicking me laser pointer and wraparound shades, and pretending to shoots lasers at un-unibrow'd wolverines.

So, far from the monobrow indicating a modicum of lycanthropy, it's more a vindictive, short, grudge-bearing, thieving, wee one-eyed bastard, with a fetish for X-men costumery and zapping werewolves with his laser eyes.

Only a man who's tall of height

And shaves his brows at night

Won't become a wolf when the wolfsbane blooms

Because eyebrow topiary is a pretty ridiculous identification method for identifying transmorphing shapeshifters if you ask me!