It’s 9/11 today in Ireland. Which means 9/11 was actually 11/9.

I’ve had this little fear inside me all day that at any moment i’m going to bite my finger while eating.

Hasn’t happened…

…yet.

Had to be connected to an ECG machine the other day.  Long story short, I had chest pains for a couple of days, that I still have and they were trying to rule out a dodgy ticker.  Which they did.  Good times.  This only meant that now they have now idea why I have piercing and crushing chest pains when I breath, move, sit still or blink.  Bad times.

So, €60 euro poorer and none the richer for knowing what’s wrong with me, I’m sitting here looking at my chest.

Wondering what’s going on in there.  My blood pressure is perfect, as the doctor announced with a tone of un-suppressed surprise.  As is my cholesterol and blood sugar levels.  The same three tests they always do with me.

Wondering what’s going on in there and causing me pain.  I inhale and although it hurts, my chest rises.  Hoping it won’t hurt when I exhale, I watch my chest lower again accompanied by the pain again.

Mostly though I’m looking at my chest and wondering why the nurse had to be such an utter and complete bitch.

She told me to take off my shirt, saucy.

I stripped sensually, moist.

She told me to lay on the bed, boing.

She asked me if I had ever done this before, please.

Before I could stutter out the affirmative, she had a razor out and proceeded to whip away all of my manly chest hair.  Shock, horror and disgust swept across my face and just as I was about to squeal a “what the fuck?”, she had sticky things all over the newly uncovered bits.

I can live with the highly trained and expensive professionals not having a bog about what’s wrong with me.  I can live with the pain and worry of not knowing either.  I cannot live with a patchy, itchy chest.

It took me all of puberty to grow that hair, the longest of which was 7 inches at one point protruding from my left nipple.  It took me every day since with much (masculine) shampooing, conditioning, exfoliating, combing and tlc to keep it there.

I’m not going back there, I will fight against their obvious conspiracy to rid me of my manhood.  I will run and hide, but keep my dignity and chest curlies.

Aye, fight and I may die. Run and I’ll live — at least a while. And dying in my bed many years from now, I would be willing to trade all the days from this day to that for one chance, just one chance to go back there and tell my enemy that they may take my money, but they’ll never take my manhood!!!

Take some:

and add:

and you get probably the sexiest couple in the history of humanity.

I think it’s time for a couples Playboy centrefold.

How can you not love her.

When people interact, be it in person, phone, email, text, twitter, etc, by default someone communicates last.  In a one-on-one email/text/tweet I usually like to respond and in conjunction with someone who doesn’t mind eitherways this makes for a normal happy ending of me signing off.

But sometimes I’ll end up in a conversation with another sing-off-er, someone who will also want to politely respond, and we end up communicating back and forth, saying the most trivial things until someone caves.  It’s a funny situation.

1960s – mini dresses, mod fashion, the Beatles, psychadelic drugs, psychadelic colours, beatle cars.

1970s – flares, big hair, Abba, glam rock, Woodstock, Grease, Star Wars, Starsky and Hutch.

1980s – shoulder pads, even bigger hair, leg warmers, Dallas, Knight Rider, Ghostbusters, power ballads, Duran Duran, Bananarama, Stock Aitken and Waterman, Brat Pack.

1990s – ?

What would you fill in?

OK.

At the risk of sounding whiny, or of offending anyone, can I just ask if anyone else thinks it might be time for an overhaul of the way this blog looks?

It seems like the site has become a bit like your great aunt’s house. No-one really wants to visit because it’s oh-so-terribly dull, but everyone knows they ought to once in a while.

I know I’ve only put up two posts to date, but honestly, they bored me to tears when I read back over them. And I’m a very exciting person, people, so it couldn’t possibly be my fault.

Not that I’m offering my services for the re-vamp, mind you, I’m crap at that stuff.

Just saying, like.

Lets be frank. We humans live a fairly cocky existence. Everyone of us thinks that we are the shit. And I know what you’re thinking; “hold on a feckin second, I pride myself in my ability to see my faults and recognise that others are better.”, or some such absolute rhino excrement.

You see, the fact is we never practice any sort of self-examination with other species in mind. When we walk headfirst into a lamppost, we DON’T think “Jaysus, a monkey wouldn’t have done that”.

We think we are evolutions epic, perfect fluke.

What follows is a few reasons illustrating why we are not. Just ask yourself, have you ever seen a monkey do any of these things?

1. Has one ever been on the brink between the world of sleep and the world of wakeyness when something happens in a dream one is having that somehow merges with reality and causes one to kick out/jump, wallopin’ a limb of a bedpost/wall/headboard/partner. Not the action of a perfect organism.
2. Has one ever been trying to feed oneself, as one does on a regular basis, when one somehow mixes up that piece of toast with the inside of one’s mouth thus causing extreme pain by chewing and, hopefully, bringing the epic shitness of our species sharply into reality.
3. Like eating, most of us walk for almost all our lives. Yet we often momentarily forget the correct technique for this fundamental act and decide that smackin’ our big toe off any surface that isn’t glass smooth is the best experience since the orgasm.

Just a bit of evidence to support this theory. If you need more, I suggest you acquire a mirror and look in it.

I’ve only just remembered my own blogiversary and then got to thinking…my blogging beginnings were inextricably linked to the birth of The Blog Pound. And sure enough The Blog Pound is exactly 1 year, 1 week and 1 day old

Here’s the first ever post on The Blog Pound from Someone Living welcoming everyone

Of course Someone Living mentions that “the original 1506 posts are at the now deceased For Nine Pounds” however For Nine Pounds has since been resurrected with some new writers, so go pay them a visit.

My first post on The Blog Pound…a recollection of a rather strange dream. I can’t say I remember it at all now!

Happy Blogiversary to The Blog Pound, thanks to all the readers and commenters and well done to all the writers!

Have some cake on me.