The Bald days Aren't Over: Notes on Balding, Guitar Hero, The Clash of Clans, Mambo No. 5, Love Potion Number 9 and Recycling

It has come to my attention that I might be balding. Of course balding isn't uncommon in men, it's the natural way of things. The problem here is that I, Afam am not a boy and not yet a man. Well, we've all listened to Britney Spears at one point or the other so you mustn't think any less of me. Yes, Slave 4 u blew my 11 year old mind clean out of my head. Perhaps this is the source of my madness. I shall contemplate this while playing guitar hero later. Speaking of which, I managed to cop quite the brilliant deal from a fellow Student Castle resident. Student Castle is the rather queer but nice building I live in. I love the way building and live in sound together. There's a sort of assonance there that excites me. I think that there is a slight possible that I am "assosexual". Yes, I made that up myself and yes, I am incredibly pleased with myself.


I, Afam, managed to obtain Guitar Hero Legends of Rock, Guitar Hero World Tour and two Guitar Hero guitars for £20. This is a BARGAIN and three quarters!! I am so excited that I cannot contain myself. I am so excited that I might go for a jig outside. Yes, a little Cha Cha, a little Mambo No. 5, just so that you won't need that Love Potion number 9.

Mambo number 5 is the Lou Bega song that features the names of the following women: Angela, Pamela, Monica, Erika, Rita, Tina, Sandra, Mary, and Jessica in that order.

Love Potion Number 9 is a song by the written by Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller, originally performed by the Clovers, but perhaps made most famous by the searchers and a 1992 Rom Com starring Tate Donovan and Sandra Bullock. And yes, you guessed it the movie is based on the song. I know, it all sounds a little bizarre so I'll exit, stage left... Hilar! Hilar! Hilar! And that folks is how the word hilarious came about. It was first someone's very very peculiar laugh, much like guffaw. 

That was quite possibly the best £20 I have ever spent. I, like Alexander Dumas, Lindsay Lohan, Nicholas Cage and Wesley Snipes am simply frightful when it comes to the management of money. Do you know that I spent up to £100 pounds on the popular Ipad and Iphone game, Clash of Clans? I no longer play this game, but I maintain that it was money well spent because I gained a great deal of satisfaction from it. If spending money does not leave you feeling all good, bubbly, spritely and frivolous inside, then what is the good of it? If it makes you happy, you should use that Benjamin Franklin dollar bill to wipe your nose, or pick up your dog's accident. In fact, I do not know why we don't for if we took it to the bank they would be obliged to take the note, regardless of it's condition. This seems to me to be the most economical mode of human waste management. It's like toilet roll that's infinitely and completely recyclable.

While balding isn't uncommon in men, I Afam, am not a man. No I'm not. I'm a man child and the last time I checked there was nothing in my man child hand book that said anything about balding, thinning and receding hairlines. If my widow's peak becomes any more isolated, I just might change the name of the blog. Oh! You don't know what a widow's peak is? Hahahaha! I laugh at your ignorance. No, I shan't tell you. I cannot possibly be expected to operate like a walking talking infomercial. I hate those things. They make me want to violence the television. Yes, violence the television because I do not know what sort of mechanism of violence I wish to inflict on the fowl device. My widow's peak, being eroded from both sides at an alarming rate. I fear that soon the name widow's peak will no longer do.  I fear that soon, it'll be a widows island.

I went to my barber the other day to complain about the situation. I said to him,

"Ahmed! Look at what is happening! Just look at it! Look at it!"

You must excuse the shouty exclamation marks, I was not my usual cool, calm, and collected self. My inner Zen was in shambles and my inner god was on holiday. If E.L James, the woman behind the 50 Shades of Grey insists that women have an inner goddess whose entire diction is almost completely governed by two words, "Oh my!" then I insist that men must have an inner god whose diction completely revolves around the this expletive laden phrase, "f*** that s**t"

"What is it that I am meant to be looking at?" he replied, completely oblivious of the man tantrum I was throwing.

"My head! My hairline! It's receding!" I yelled back at him. I was no greater than two stages away from ripping the hair from my head like a mourning widow.

"Ah. Yes. I can see it. It's because you think too much."

I was so perplexed by his answer that I forgot my attention gathering antics.

"I think too much?" I asked him.

"Yes. I see it all the time. Every time I cut your hair, your forehead is wrinkled." he answered.

"But what if I was losing the hair in the centre of my head"

"Easy. That's usually cos you know too much."

"And if I had both the receding hairline and the balding centre?"

"Then you think you know too much." he replied smugly.


The End

Happy Days,
Afam