Wednesday, 20 June 2007

73 Days To Go - £400,000 well spent

Having observed just what a peppy animated thing has done for the London Olympics, I thought I would invest some of my petty cash in getting one of my own:

Beardy Weirdy in motion Yes, yet another reason why I have not had a chance to add any posts to this blog over the last four months. I think you will agree that I have spent my money well. What you may not realise at first glance is that it contains a subliminal message. It would help me greatly in future development of this technology if you could let me know what you think the subliminal message is. One lucky winner (selected from all entries received by 1st September 2007) will win a waxed moustache that I shaved off and put in a pot in 1998.

73 Days To Go - The Perils of Intensive Beard Farming

Yes, yes, I know - what sort of blog is this that only gets updated every four months? Well, what you have got to realise is that growing a World Champion beard is not the pursuit of a part-time hobbyist. A barbathlete (from 'barba', the Latin for 'beard', and 'athlete', the English for 'someone who takes stuff too seriously') needs to follow a rigorous training program involving control of diet and sexual frustration. Given that the diet must be high protein (a heady mix of meat and lentils and fartiferous beans) and that, by definition, a barbathlete must have facial hair, you would have thought that sexual frustration was guaranteed. The key though is the control of sexual frustration - the barbathlete must have the continual belief that he is going to have sex in the very near future (thus stimulating the production of testosterone and hence beard growth) but never to have that belief fulfilled (once satisfied, testosterone production tails off). As luck would have it I exhibit the perfect combination of self-delusion and painful shyness to ensure optimum testosterone production. How fantastic is that?

Unfortunately, as with any thoroughbred, I have a sensitive constitution - a recent sighting of a razor led to my immune system being compromised. The consequent pneumonia and tonsillitis meant a spell in hospital, but every cloud has a silver lining - what could be better for my beard growth than to be surrounded by nurses whilst being a drooling spitting mess? I thank God every day.

(For further details of the science behind this post, please have a look at a Time Magazine article about sex and beard growth)

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