Justin Bieber Approved Natural Cure for Baldness found at Fernbrook Resort, Freelton

The utter absence of Fernbrook Resort posts can be explained via our attendance at the Annual Conference of People Who Like to Meet Annually. The Annual Conference of People Who Like to Meet Annually (or ACOPWLTMA) is a conference for people who like to meet no more and no less than once every year. And it’s always good fun. If you only like to attend one conference per year then we highly recommend ACOPWLTMA.

But of course all fun things must come to an end.

And soon we were back at Fernbrook Resort in Freelton.

Where, on our return, some chicken impolitely clucked on the shininess of the extreme upper portion of my pate. Yeah, that’s right, no, “Hi, how are ya?” or “Welcome back!” instead they say, “Where’s the rest of your hair? Still on vacation?” And of course I wanted to reply, “Yeah, it’s partying with your brain.” But some people can’t handle the truth. So I just smiled politely and slowly backed away.

I don’t mind being bald. My Father was bald. My mother was balding. My brothers and sisters were bald. Even my pet eagle was bald. In fact the only member of our household that had any hair was our hairless Chihuahua. Michael. That fuzzy little furball had more hair then an entire Woodstock Festival. Go figure.

But the comments got me thinkin’…

How come scientists can figure out how to do something complicated like fill a doughnut with jelly or construct a Caramilk™ chocolate bar but they can’t do something simple like find an effective and permanent respite for the follicly challenged?

Because it didn’t take me long to find one. A cure for baldness. It certainly works for me. No one’s noticed a thing. All you do is let your remaining ‘side’ hair grow really long. Second, you take the side hair and sweep it up and over the hairless portion of the head (or chromedomium as scientists refer to it). Finally you get a big hunk of #6 Canada Goose Grease and plaster those little suckers right down to the scalp so tightly that a typhoon couldn’t move them. And you’re done. That’s it. No one will ever know that you’re hiding a big big secret.      

And here’s the best part, Justin Bieber has agreed to be the spokesperson when the marketing campaign begins.

And Mr. Bieber is not just the spokesperson – he’s also a client. We ripped off that toupee he called a head covering then swept the remaining natural hair strands up over his head, plastered them with #6 Canada Goose Grease three weeks ago. And no one has noticed. Not the paparazzi. Not the news media. Not even the strippers down at Club Bum Touch where he is a frequent (and generous) attendee.

No one.

Stayed tuned for the infomercials and a likely Nobel Prize for Peace.

Cock-a-doodle- In our absence it seems that there has been another round of rooster clucks and petty mickey mouse goings on (oh Joy!) and we’ll be revealing them in upcoming exciting and not to be missed Secrets of Fernbrook Resort.

A Tommyknocker, a Peeping Tom and a Giant Chicken at Fernbrook Resort Freelton

A Tommyknocker, a Peeping Tom and a Giant Chicken at Fernbrook Resort Freelton
 
I was talking to some neighbours the other day and they had a surprising tale to tell. At 6:05 of the AM on Wednesday November 5th, 2014 (in the year of our Lord) some one or some thing banged on the back window of their home before running off faster than Ben Johnson on a cocktail of steroids (Ben Johnson the sprinter not Ben Jonson the dramatist).

And this wasn’t the first time such an event had taken place.

It had happened once before in June. And once prior to that in February.  

And a couple minutes after each occurrence, coincidentally, a car was heard starting up. Then driving away. Some sort of roostermobile if their description is correct.

They don’t know what to make of it.

But I think I do.

No doubt it was a Tom · my · kno · cker (noun).

A TOmmyknocker of course is one of those malevolently evil and narcissistic creatures that goes around tapping here and there and causing childish trouble.

Though too it could be a peep·ing Tom (noun).

A peeping Tom of course is one of those weird perverts who derives sexual pleasure from secretly watching people through the windows of their homes.  

But there is one other choice as well.

No, not an adult male turkey gobble gobble (ha ha ha good parallelism though) but rather some sort of chicken. A giant rooster perhaps. In search of an early morning bowl of Purina Instant Rooster Chow™. Because as fate would have it, adjacent to those neighbours it is alleged doth reside a giant lazy rooster with poorly veiled narcissistic tendencies.

Now if we could just put a name to that giant rooster this Hardy Boys style mystery could be put to a rest.

Cock-a-doodle-gobble gobble gobble




PS - I only used the word doth just because I wanted to sound cool – like I had read Shakespeare or Marlowe or Pope or Ben Jonson (the dramatist not the sprinter).

Dog Elected Lord Mayor of Fernbrook Resort Freelton – Justin Timberlake finishes 4th!

Dog Elected Lord Mayor of Fernbrook Resort Freelton – Justin Timberlake finishes 4th!

It’s official – the recount is in and a canine has been elected Lord Mayor of Freelton’s ritzy Fernbrook Resort.

In a surprise result ‘Doc Ballard’ a geriatric long-haired mongrel of undetermined parentage handily beat out the office incumbent, a weathered piece of plywood purchased at Beaver Lumber in 1983. Also running for the job was a medium-sized rock with a thick vein of quartz running through it, which finished third. Disappointed fourth place finisher Justin Timberlake rounded out the hotly contested campaign.

“The other candidates seemed to treat this race as a dog and pony show,” neighed Doc Ballard’s Campaign Manager the world famous Mr. Ed, “but we avoided that and won because we stuck to the issues that were close to the people’s hearts.”

Issues which included the hotly debated FMP or ‘Feline Management Policy’ and Dog Feces Flinging.

“No more cats!” barked Doc Ballard (here the new Lord Mayor interrupted himself with a bit of a self-cleaning before he continued). “From this moment onward all animals of the feline persuasion will be forced to wear a big yellow mouse around their necks while out in public. Those who refuse will be interred in special camps until their disposition can be decided. And that goes for their supporters too! This is Canine Country now!” Doc Ballard yipped sharply.

When pressed about his Dog Feces Flinging support Doc Ballard barked, “Personally I believe that we should all let feces lie where it is deposited. I know I do. It’s what nature intended. And I know the plant life and the fields just love it! That’s how I got their votes. By unabashedly pooping all over the ecosystem. But if someone wants to fling some feces around… what the hey… it’s good exercise. And with my plans to resurrect the spring Dog Feces Flinging Festival and perhaps add a fall festival as well. It would be good for the local tourism industry… which will be great for the economy.”

At this point the news conference was interrupted by a disheveled Justin Timberlake. Timberlake withdrew a soup bone from an old shopping bag, tossed it far into the distance, whereby the Lord Mayor immediately jumped down from his lectern and gave chase    

In the Mayor’s absence Justin Timberlake said, “Personally I enjoy a bit of recreational flinging of dog feces, I only entered politics because of Doc Ballard’s Feline Management Policy. Apartheid, whether it be based on religion, skin colour or degree of feline-ness, should not be tolerated. I hereby immediately renounce my citizenship in the nation of Fernbrook. I am moving to the US of A where I will take up singering and actoring and make it my career.”

When asked if he had any final words Timberlake replied, “whether it be the oppression of all cats or simply the removal of one cat I predict a cock-a-doodle catastrophe for those who are responsible for this dastardly policy.”