The Mugumbo Files: Part I

The following email exchange occurred between your esteemed host and a dusky gentlemen of rather dubious provenance. The picture he attached is clearly a true likeness. The jaunty angle of his head is probably due to his rather extensive lever problem.

 

Mr Mugumbo needs to lever his head back into position

Dear Sirs,
Allow me to introduces myself and hope I am not imposing on your personal privacy. I am Colonel Iphone Mugumbo late attaché to the late Badluck Mumbojumbo former President to the central African country of Cesspitagogoland.

I proposes a confidential proposal of strict secrecy and confidentiality. I am party to the late Badluck’s estate comprising $38,567,000 monies (THIRTY EIGHT MILLION FIVE HUNDRED AND SIXTY SEVEN THOUSAND DOLLARS). Having passed your details through certain confidential processes you have emerged with honour and spanking brand new. Due to an impending cancer of the lever I am contemplating an expedite conclusion of our businesses. My doctor has told me I will expire in 6 months because of my impending medical predicament. If you are interested to assist I will disperse 40% of the monies in your favor. My share of the dispersement will bequeath to my wife so she can move to the UK when I surely expire.  Do not worry all modalities have been covered and you have no risk to yourselves. As a fellow man of God and a good Christian who love the Lord with impeccable fortitude I await with awe your heartfelt positive responses. 

True with God
Colonel Iphone Mugumbo

 

Dear Iphone,
You have my deepest sympathies. Cancer of the lever is not to be taken lightly. Of course you can trust me implicitly as you would expect from a complete stranger with a tenuous grip on reality (wibble). I must say before we undertake any transaction that I am not a Christian but a follower of the elder gods. Having established my credentials and bona fides how are we to progresses the processes and when do I get my sticky mitts on all that ill-gotten monies? As for the 'spanking': I think we need to keep this under bubble wrap as my gimp suit is still in the laundry being scraped, cleaned and sanitised.

Yours with lube
Flaxen Saxon

 

My Dear Flaxen Saxon,
Your responses is well noted. I emphasies that you must keep our transaction secret and remain secure. I contacted a wise man and he is our village doctor and he cast your fortune and says you will become a very wealthy man. You must believe what I say as a dying man can only tell truths. My partner, Bar Lighthouse Umbongo will now send you instructions. You must follow and trust this man as you trust Gods right hand man. I hopes that you and your family are well and not suffer as I suffer.

Colonel Iphone Mugumbo

 Dear Iphone,
Just to let you know my gimp suit has come up squeaky clean and I'm ready to spank anew. I even managed to remove those unmentionable hard to get rid of stains. I've been thinking about your lever problem. Have you thought about obtaining a fulcrum? Fulcrums and levers go together like ferrets and whippets. Actually, I do suffer currently. I have a small but unsightly pimple on my ARSE and I'm a very vain fellow. Witch doctor do you allude to, perchance? What would he suggest for what ails my ARSEsoul; a quick casting of the bones; a light squeezing of the pustule or the application of a soothing unguent. Tell me what he recommendies?  

Yours with a whip
Flaxen Saxon

 

I think this workys

 

My Dear Flaxen Saxon,
Levity does not lie with serious businees. I am informed you are a serious man to whom I could conduct this transaction. Why waste my time with friviolous pictures? Do you not want riches beyond your wildest imagination? If not tell me candidly and I shall deal with a man who embraces wealth and who can look after his family.

Colonel Iphone


Dear Iphone
Please accept my serious apologies. I am presently suffering from a serious brain melody and subject to ejaculate selected verses from the musical 'Calaminity Jane': "Whip Doris Day, whip Doris Day". I seriously state I'm a serious man dedicated to progresses, modalities with aplomb and expeditaries. I entrities you to implores Mr Bar to contact me immediately, if not sooner, so we can share our intimate confidencies.

 "Oh the Deadwood Stage is a-rollin' on over the plains"

Flaxen Saxon     

TO BE CONTINUED.....

 

My Son's Graduation

Handsome bugger isn't he? Chippus blockus offus maximus

Tis a proud day in the Saxon household. Number one son and heir to the 'Flaxen Saxon estate', has just graduated with a degree in business studies. Wisely he took his father's advice not to take the 'Science Pathway'. I'll not go into detail why I counselled thusly, I'll just say that obtaining work in a competitive field has something to do with it. Many of my ex-students are still waiting to gain a toehold into the profession and in the meantime while away their hours flipping burgers. This can be soul destroying after spending four years studying for a vocational science degree. If given the chance to travel back in time I think I would have pursued a different career choice, although to be fair my career in science has been successful and has provided a good living. Perhaps I'm getting a little jaundiced in my old age (see previous post) and no longer look at the world of work with enthusiasm.

I'm sure my son will do well in the world. He is blessed with many natural attributes: tall, strong, blond, smart and endowed with his father's good looks. It all helps in a tough world. Modesty is for those who have something to be modest about. 

He returns to Western Australia on Monday and it is likely I wont see him until Christmastide. I'm going to miss him dearly, after all, he's like a son to me.

                                                                   Ode to Love

 There's motherly love and brotherly love and love of a son for his father,

But the sweetest of love, the most poignant of love, is one drunken sod for another.

 

Pass the liver salts



Just off to the pub for a pint

Whilst a student, many years ago, I remember my Microbiology Professor distinctly lecturing us students about the dangers of alcohol. Students, as I'm sure you know, have a reputation for enjoying the hedonist lifestyle and therefore his entreaties fell on deaf ears and young livers. What this had to do with microbes I can't recall, but Teachers from time immemorial have never been able to resist foisting 'wisdom' on their impressionable students which they feel is lacking in young minds and hearts. One particular Prof comment has stayed with me: "Men with hairy chests are less likely to contract cirrhosis of the liver than their brethren scant of chest hair". The class dutifully laughed and some quickly checked their attributes. At the time I didn't take the comment seriously and as the Prof offered no references to support his pronouncement I was inclined to treat it with mild jocular disdain. Now all this would be just a footnote in my timeline if it wasn't for something which occurred last week while trawling through the net.

Due to my training and natural inclination I am not someone who usually takes information, especially if obtained from the net, as dripping in verity. Tis always best to go back to the original study or hopefully studies which provide data and support for the assertion. The site I was browsing is not particularly renowned for imparting unimpeachable knowledge so I rarely take its contents too seriously. I usually go there for casual amusement and to find ideas for my writing. Anyway, what piqued my interest was the following unsupported comment: Men with hair on their chests are less likely to get cirrhosis of the liver than bare-chested men are. Perhaps my old teetotal Prof was on to something or could it be no more than a medical urban legend? As typical for this site no references were given. This would require a bit of digging.

It didn't take long to come up with a primary source. During the 1950s and 60s an American liver specialist, Dr Mitchell Spellberg, conducted research into the connection between hirsutism and liver disease. In May 1961 the good doctor attended the 62nd annual meeting of the American Gastroenterological association in Chicago. During the meeting he held a press conference to alert the public to the association between lack of a hairy chest and liver disease and to warn men less endowed to limit their alcohol consumption. To quote the good doctor: "The bushy chested individual is probably endowed with more protection against alcohol than his bare chested brother." I Couldn't help think that there was a good dollop of old fashioned morality preaching going on here- that doesn't mean the doc was wrong in his assertion though. 

Certainly by the 1960s there was 'evidence' for a link between liver disease and a lack of a hairy chest. But as all good scientists should know, correlation is not necessarily causation. Correlation is a very pesky fellow and should be treated with circumspection. For instance, could it be that liver disease results in hair loss? Mayhap the data is flawed in some way; was the study a good one adhering to sound scientific principles; was there any conscious or unconscious bias involved. The opposite is also true: If you treat everything with total scepticism, you learn nothing but how to sneer. Good science is, and should always be, bloody hard work.  

There have been studies conducted subsequent to Dr Spellberg's initial work of varying quality (see below). My tentative interpretation is that there might be something going on but I suspend final judgement pending new studies; not exactly clear cut but thought provoking nonetheless. If we are looking at a real phenomenon how could it be mediated? One possible suspect is the male hormone testosterone. Hormones can play an important role in disease, especially cancer. Testosterone levels have been shown to influence chest hair growth and alcohol processing in the liver. It has been suggested that men with less testosterone degrade alcohol less efficiently than men with higher testosterone levels. I must emphasise that there is no hard evidence for this and the idea, for now, remains a hypothesis. 

It will come as no surprise that I enjoy the odd tipple. Also I have very little chest hair, just a few wispy strands which I comb over to hide my unsightly third nipple. Am I therefore at significant risk of developing cirrhosis? I don't think so- my drinking is not that profound and any increase in risk is likely to be low. Cirrhosis is not a particularly common disease despite what your doctor might say. I'm much more likely to succumb to cancer or maybe heart disease as I have raised cholesterol. I'll be buggered if I'll change my lifestyle. I enjoy life and all the good things therein. I don't believe in an afterlife and intend to continue to live my life as if tomorrow will be my last sunrise. 

But don't take my word for it. Check out the primary sources yourself if you have the time or inclination. This list is not exhaustive and only contains the papers which I could be bothered to read. 

References

1. Gibbons, R (May 27, 1961). "Bare-Chested Males Advised: Don't Drink." Chicago Daily Tribune: 8.

2. Grace, WJ, et al. (1962). Chest Hair and Cirrhosis of the Liver. American Journal of Digestive Diseases, 7(10): 913-914.

3. Kumar, N & Anand, BS (May 1998). Premorbid Hair Growth over the Trunk and Severity of Alcohol-Related Liver Disease. Digestive Diseases and Sciences, 43(5): 1111-1115.

4. Selzer, R (1976). Mortal Lessons: Notes on the Art of Surgery. Harcourt.

5. Saxon, F & Mugumbo, I (June 2016). Alcohol consumption and the link with talking complete bollocks. Tipton Journal of Difficult Shit and Stuff, 23 (8): 126-129.

 

 

Flaxen's thought of the day.........



 Animals taste good

To be frank I'm inclined to move the line two fauna to the left. Most Orientals don't have a distinction. We in the soft West should take note. I suppose this advert is designed to concentrate our minds on the ethical issues involved in eating meat. I get it. Animals are sentient beasts and cute. Most folk are not concerned with the butchery and are therefore divorced from the killing. Everything comes in nice vacuum packs conveniently placed in the fridge in the local 'Val U Like'.

 

It has been a long time since I hunted rabbit with Gramps and his ferret, 'Shagger'. Wild rabbit added extra free protein to a poor family's diet. And guess what: I enjoyed the hunt and rabbits are easily dispatched and roasted.    

 

 

 

Trumped at the Polls

Billions of dollars- so what's going on with the hair?
 

I rarely comment on politics directly. For the most part the whole charade bores me and leaves me cold. Occasionally I might offer up simple parody, but that is as far as it goes. Therefore, it will no doubt surprise my readers to learn that I’m about to plunge into the murky waters which drench American domestic politics. In truth, much of what I have to say should be classified under social rather than political commentary. Don’t worry folks, I’m only dipping in my big toe and then only to the first knuckle. The water is way too frigid for a simple Tipton lad, Brrrrrrrr. I usually leave informed political commentary to blog hosts such as my good mate, Dioclese et al who specialise in exposing the wretchedness of those who deign to serve. Barely without exception, politicians are a conniving bunch of self serving bastards.

First a general comment: From what I can see the only attribute absolutely required to put forth as an American presidential candidate is wealth. Poor folk need not apply. There is nothing intrinsically shocking about this. Western politicians who aspire to ‘rule their country’ are invariably wealthy, even self-confessed socialists. Hypocrisy has never been an impediment to a successful political career. It helps to be educated, experienced and smart as well though. I’ll go as far to state that Western democracies recruit potential leaders from the reservoir of seasoned, experienced politicians of some rank. Even the Americans have followed this model until now. Trump has proved the exception. Just like love, money conquers all.

Donald Trump’s foray into the political scene last summer elicited almost universal contempt from commentators left and right of the political spectrum. He was seen as a joke. Political pundits, and those who like to talk loud in restaurants, gave him scant regard. Trump’s political inexperience and his lack of coherent policy lent support to his ‘none-serious’ status. It seemed as though he would rank as no more than a footnote in American history and a lesson on how the American system, although not perfect, is not without a self righting mechanism to correct for idiosyncratic, and non-conformist candidates. But Trump did not go away and seemed to thrive on a wave of popular support. There are many in the American electorate, especially on the left who loathe Trump. However, Trump’s support derives from middle conservative America. The grass roots seem to warm to his no nonsense, no substance, style. Trump appears to speak as many Americans think, especially on grand issues such as immigration.

I don’t like Trump. He is an egotistic and arrogant caricature. Trump is a great clown of a man; a demagogue in the ancient Greek tradition. But it is his arrogance and ego that makes him a politician. However, this is where he leaves the fold. ‘Good’ politicians, and I don’t mean good in any moral objective sense, have a knack of couching their opinions and policies in coded rhetoric. A sort of standard ‘politic speak’ which obscures, deceives and places a positive spin on every word which drips from their posturing mouths. Tis quite a skill, usually honed through many years of wrangling and manoeuvring through the political minefield. And here comes Trump with his foot in the mouth, with his unpolished utterance and appeal to gut politics. Many gaffs make the man. His coarse approach, whilst inviting comic derision from the educated left, has struck a chord with a great swathe of Americans. I wonder when we will see imitators.

A note of panic in the leftist media is becoming apparent as it now appears likely that Trump will end up as the Republican nominee. Ivory tower polemicists, from both ends of the political spectrum, may agree amongst themselves but are completely out of touch with the viewing public who remain forever beyond their understanding. And let us not forget that the process has become a circus- a great arena for our entertainment but not edification. The electorate (this goes for all Western democracies) are sick and tired of politicians who promise all and deliver fuck all. The electorate have become weary and cynical. They want their politicians to dance for them and sweat. And what better way to do this than endorse the none-politician, politician. You could argue that they hold hands with the Devil and if not careful may end up with the man as President. Most won’t care. America will trundle on regardless of the incumbent, pushed by domestic and international forces beyond rational control. Perhaps as President, Trump will become circumspect and conform to the established political norm. No doubt promises will be made but never kept and the lot of the jaundiced majority will remain, more or less, unchanged.

Dat’s democracy folks……

 

Self indulgent bastard

There is a strain/stain in society which delights in coming up with convoluted and contrived names for their offspring. Kids are named after their parent’s favourite character from their much loved day-time soap: 'The fat and the feckless'. Names such as ‘Chardonnay’ and ‘Vegas’ come readily to mind.

I have a thing about children’s names and work in an environment which panders to my quirks and foibles. During the working period I’m exposed to numerous kiddy names and can attest to the rise of unconventional monikers. I ponder on the imponderable and consider the unimaginable. Given my target population: children with developmental issues- could it be possible or even probable that children with intellectual problems are prone to being lumbered with strange names? This of course begs the question of what constitutes a strange name. Formal definitions do not exist, but amongst the enlightened and comfortably smug, formality is not required; let us snigger amongst ourselves. I’ve dealt elsewhere with the anecdotal and jocular correlation of bizarre names with cognitive deficit. As an aside, cognitive deficit is the PC term for the blithely uttered, ‘mongers’. We are not supposed to use the word, ‘monger,’ these days as it is too descriptive of the problem. Of course, ‘bad names’ ultimately indict the parents. And if parents exhibit poor decisions concerning baby names how does this reflect on their wider life choices? Poor choices which impact on their already sorrowful, maladjusted lives. How much incomprehension and unpleasantness can be endured?

Am I starting to sound elitist? If I come across like that it is because I am. Elitist in a way that only someone separated from ‘poor white trash’ by a generation can be. It concentrates the contrast and contradiction wonderfully and imparts a degree of relief that the multi-generation middle-class can never fully comprehend. I am only an education away from being the proud owner of a mullet or bloater, depending on how you look at it. And if you think I’m labouring under a misguided sense of inferiority/insecurity, be assured, this is not the case. Arse.

C'mon, you gotta admit- I'd look sexy

 

 

Hair today, gone........

O you cunning Devil

Not everyone can be blessed with a generous mop of hair like your gracious blog host. Going bald to some degree is the lot for the majority of men as they age. Blame it on genetics and that pesky male hormone, testosterone. Most men embrace their baldness with dignity and either shave their head completely or endure a functional hairstyle in keeping with their follicularly challenged status. Not everyone goes graciously and a few will attempt to mask their bald spot with tricho-gymnastics. The dreaded comb over is often the result. Hair whipped up from the back and sides straddle a bald pate to form an unholy abomination. Sadly efforts to conceal baldness only serve to bring attention to the very thing which bald men would like to conceal. Daft buggers.

Back in the 80s a good friend of mine was the recipient of typical male pattern baldness. He was also a very vain fellow and decided on the hair transplant solution. Off he went to a prestigious clinic in London and after handing over ridiculous amounts of cash he became the proud owner of two lines of hair plugs placed in regular array across his ill-favoured bonce. All this was reminiscent of a sapling plantation after a hurricane. If he thought he could hide the procedure from the viewing public he hadn't accounted for the swelling. The front of his head swelled mightily and bossed out like a 'bossing out' kind of thing.

Anyway, his close friends were totally unaware of the procedure, so when he turned up at the local pub sprouting half a melon atop his noodle he caused some consternation especially as he didn't explain the phenomenon and acted as if all was fine and dandy. Of course, his friends stared but said nowt. Inevitably our friend had to go for a pee and as he left my mate turned to me and whispered: "Dolphin head". Hence forth, and in polite circles, he was known as 'Flipper'. Eventually, after a few beers we managed to coax the story out of a very sheepish and very drunk mate. He hadn't fully appreciated the side effects from the procedure and had been told by the clinic receptionist (what, no doctor?) that there might be the possibility of some minor swelling. Understandably the esteemed clinic forgot to mention that he might turn into Frankenstein's monster after a heavy head banging session.

"What's that Flipper? Little Johnny has got his cock jammed in the spa pool's jets, again."

Our poor friend related how he had been walking the dog earlier in the day and had come across a woman on the forest path. Her reaction on confronting 'Flipper' was one of shock and awe. Luckily my quick-witted friend managed to blurt out: "It's okay, I've just had a brain operation." Her verbal response will be forever lost as everyone in ear-shot collapsed in paroxysms of merriment. There wasn't a dry eye, or seat, in the pub.

As for the transplant hiding his bald spot- sadly it did no such thing. The sprouting 'thingys' looked totally artificial and fooled no one. Eventually, our poor friend was reduced to combing his hair forward to hide the plugs of despair. Such is vanity!

                                                           Don't try this at home, folks