Of course, they say that any publicity is good publicity, so perhaps this English hair salon has struck upon an odd (albeit potentially devastating) effort at self-promotion.
According to the new rules implemented at said hairdresser, anyone over 176 centimetres (or five foot eight inches in old money), or whose hair extends beyond ‘bra-strap length’ will incur an extra cost if they wish to get their hair cut.
I am certainly no hairdresser, and I won’t pretend to know the difference between a duck tail and a pompadour, but surely the price of your cut should have nothing to do with the length of your hair when you walk into the shop. You take a pair of scissors and snip – how that process differs for someone whose hair is cut close to their ears and for another whose locks are long enough to tickle their asshole is beyond me.
And even more oddly – why is five foot eight inches the cut off point? That’s not even an extraordinary height. Five foot eight is just a fairly standard height for a human. Now, if you were telling me that you didn’t want to cut the hair of someone who was eight foot tall… that’s at least a reason I can theoretically get behind. But truth be told, I don’t actually understand why the height of the subject is of any consequence, because surely the hair you’re cutting is attached to a head that is sitting in a seat anyway.
I’m over six foot, so I guess I won’t be going there anytime soon.
So, is that a chainsaw in your pocket or are you just happy to see me?
Actually, yes. It’s a chainsaw.
I understand that many of us cannot afford to buy those things we need, but when you’re resorting to stuffing a chainsaw down your trousers, maybe you need to reevaluate things.
The fact that the guy managed to walk, let alone exit the store with the chainsaw still down his pants, probably says more about the staff and security’s ineptitude than it does about his prowess as a thief.
They guy is still at large, at the time of blogging, but they have some pretty clear footage of him, so he shouldn’t be too hard to find… especially if he still has that thing under his jacket.
Sometimes having an impromptu blonde moment actually works in your favour, as it did for this Australian guy last week, who forgot he had already bought a lottery ticket, and then bought a second one, using the same numbers.
It turned out that they were the lucky digits that week, and there were three winning tickets for the seventy million dollar jackpot. So instead of receiving just one third of the prizemoney, he walked away with over $46 million instead.
He had been playing the same numbers for over thirty years, and then – like the proverbial bus – two came along at once.
Dumb luck indeed.
I’m actually going to go ahead and give this one to me, because if you can’t have a laugh at your own expense you shouldn’t be laughing at anyone else.
For many years I had trouble sleeping. I eventually did get to sleep every night, but it was usually a struggle to get there. I would often lie there, thinking about what I had done that day, or about what I was meant to be doing tomorrow. I’d think about my stories, and about what I had eaten for dinner. And yeah, sometimes – like the guy here – I’d be counting farmyard animals until even they had gone to sleep.
Silly as it may sound, I never actually knew how to get to sleep. Perhaps I did when I was a child, but somewhere along the line I forgot. When I was in my thirties I discussed this with my wife at the time. I explained to her that I would just lie there in bed, staring into the darkness, waiting for sleep to take me. I didn’t find it particularly funny, but she really laughed hard that night.
Apparently I was doing it wrong all along. She told me to try closing my eyes. That seemed like an odd concept to a fully-grown adult. That act felt like more of an effort in the search for sleep than simply letting my eyes fall shut naturally… but I tried it, and I haven’t looked back since.
So, you’re never too old to learn something new.
This one goes to one of my young work colleagues… one who should probably remain nameless after this little inquiry. So let’s just call him Kieran.
“Don’t you think Dwayne Johnson and The Rock look like the same person?”, he asked.
Yes. They do.
I asked Kieran if he was serious, at which point he questioned whether or not he was thinking of the right… people.
Now, in his defence it would appear that he is not the only one who doesn’t know that The Rock and Dwayne Johnson do indeed share a passport, but I figured that someone in their early twenties would have their finger a little more directly on the pop culture pulse than he apparently does.
I wonder if he knows that J Lo is really just Jennifer Lopez.
I’m aware that the people of the United States are apt to walk a little on the silly side from time to time, but making a goat the mayor of your town is a bit of a stretch, even for them. Except – in the absence of a compelling human candidate – that’s just what the people of Fair Haven, Vermont did earlier this month.
Fair Haven is not a mayoral town therefore the post – won by a three year old Nubian goat called Lincoln, who collected more votes than any of his competitors; including dogs, cats, and a gerbil called Crystal – is purely an honourary thing, kind of like a mascot but with the power to raise taxes.
The whole thing was done to raise money to build a local playground, although they only brought in about a hundred bucks, so that will barely cover the cost of the shovels required to start the digging.
I can get with the sentiment though. It’s a worthy cause and a quirky way to go about paying for it, but when the Town Manager, Joseph Gunter claimed that the election was: “a good way to get the kids involved in local government”, I was suddenly reminded of what we were talking about.