Beard Withdrawls

I was clearly suffering from beard withdrawal the last couple of days. I don't even remember writing the last post on here but it was clearly when I was held in it's dark beardless grasp. Look how saccharine sweet that last post is. How dreadful. I almost got diabetes reading it.

I'm only barely regaining control of my normal self, and I think it's because my five-o-clock shadow has come back. In true Seth Brundle form, however, I tried to document some side-effects of beardlessness when I wasn't in bouts of sappy behavior and maple-syrup smiles. The results were terrifying.

Certain aspects, like reading the nutritional facts of food and letting that determine my intake, were quite unnerving to me, as I never do that when I'm healthy, normal, and have a beard. Others, like me letting a friend get away with saying something phenomenally stupid, were straight terrifying. I clearly became a completely different person without my beard.

Other things I fear I may have done under the effects of beardlessness:

gone to a flower shop
skipped
engaged in polite conversation
ignored someones poor dressing choices
smiled
eaten a salad

This is probably going to be the sissiest post I will ever write.

The title says it all. I will try to keep this brief.
After watching the phenomenal movie 'Mary and Max' I was incredibly intrigued by the main song.
It turned out to be 'Perpetuum Mobile' by the Penguin Cafe Orchestra. And now I can't stop listening to it, and something about it makes me want to be a nicer or better person. So I will keep listening to it.
You should too.
See if it works for you too.

My strength was in my beard.

I am not in good shape at all.

I'm 6'3", but I kind of look like at one point I was 6'7" and then I magically lost about four inches of my spine, so I podge out in the stomach area but I still sort of pull off a healthy look you know what who honestly gives a damn about this.

What that above should have said was:
I have been fairly thin for a while, but the X-Bawks and eating habits are beginning to show themselves. I am no longer of the Golden Age of Metabolism. Furthermore, I think my generally poor care of myself is the reason why I got sick in the MIDDLE OF SPRING TOTAL BS and now have one of those crippling coughs that make me hunch over like a half-Indian General Grievous.

So today I went on a hike, with my friends Aaron and Bex. We hiked for an approximate total of 9.2 miles, during which I think my body ran out of muscles to turn sore and began making new ones to fill that purpose.
We also saw a great deal of scenery that you normally wouldn't associate with the desert I live in, such as

This, and

Ultimately this.

It was a really good experience for me, given that last time I tried this hike I might have gotten .5 miles before the previous nights alcoholic adventures came back to haunt me and I had to turn tail immediately before I ruined my day and my pants.
Upon arriving home, I decided that I should continue to try and better myself. So to symbolize the steps I so clearly need to take towards becoming a full-fledged grown-ass man, I quit drinking (not a big deal, I don't/didn't drink that much) and shaved my beard. I've a terrible memory, so all I know is that I've had this beard for some time between a month and a year, which is a while. I looked weird even to myself. I wasn't sure if by shaving my beard I would lose any of my powers but the second I was done shaving I struggled to turn on the tap so I think that's pretty clear. I hope I haven't made a mistake.

Paying Money to Indirectly Piss Me Off

Apparently one of my classes serves to ruin free speech by letting morons utilize it. A girl in my class managed to fire off two (2) affronts to intelligent thought in a matter of mere SECONDS.

Intellectually deteriorating thought #1 : "If I didn't get to see dinosaurs when I was a kid, then my grand-kids don't get to see polar bears."

Intellectually deteriorating thought #2: "How could you put a woolly mammoth in an elephant if elephants are smaller?"

I have to let it be known that I do in fact attend a college. And I had to deal with this after being awake for less than an hour. And then it started to snow.
The fact that money is exchanged to allow this girl (her name rhymes with 'Hope Williams') to go to a school that doesn't focus on construction paper and Elmer's Glue really makes me sad. But then again, maybe she's just paying money to indirectly piss off people? That would be actually okay. But there are better ways.

WAYS TO PISS OFF PEOPLE THAT COSTS MONEY BUT COULD TOTALLY BE WORTH IT
(It's important to remember that the amount of money we're assuming is the money that was probably spent on Hope Williams' college fund. Which is to say, probably a decent amount of money.)

1) Buy an entire store-worth of pies, and slam them upside-down on every car on campus

2) Buy all the drinks in all the vending machines every day (especially when it's hot). Then sell the drinks yourself, and dress up and act like a Jawa while you're doing it.

3) Attempt to turn every incline into a waterslide.

4) Make macaroni pictures while humming loudly, then post them on the bulletin boards. Or on second thought, just go all Jackson Pollock on the bulletin boards. I mean that in both the style of artwork and rampant alcoholism.

These are all okay ideas, but really, in this girls case, I almost just want her to go back to whatever public education level it was where they taught you common sense. I can't remember, but I've ditched a lot of classes.

A Fun Fact

Our economy might be garbage in many eyes, but in case you don't have the right sense of scope, I want you to know that the economy in Zimbabwe is way worse.

In December 2008, the annual inflation rate was 6.5 quindecillion novemdecillion percent. Of course, that is under constant change, so maybe give or take a novemdecillion. Those, by the way, are straight up legit numbers. Real talk. But because those numbers don't really mean anything to normal people, that translates into the price of things consistently doubling, every 24 hours.

Before the president of Zimbabwe, Robert Mugabe, threw up his hands and said "Pfffffffft well I DUNNO" and just stopped printing them, there were $100-trillion (or 100,000,000,000,000) notes being made. They probably aren't that hard to find, and 100 trillion Zimbabwe dollars equals something like thirty bucks here in America.

GOOD, BUT UNDOUBTEDLY LOGICALLY FLAWED IDEA

1) Get a 100 trillion Zimbabwe dollar note
2) Wait a long time for the economy to stabilize (I'm not sure how long, this could be years, decades, or you may need a successor)
3) Go to Zimbabwe, now being incredibly wealthy
4) Build a fashionable resort by Victoria Falls
5) Call it HOTEL RWAWESOME

Fundraising idea

In one of my classes last week, I was called 'egocentric'.

Not a big deal. It wasn't malicious, more a hands-on form of explaining a subject to the class. But I thought it was hilarious.

Largely because, through whatever mechanics my mind goes through, it resulted in the creation of this fundraiser, designed especially for me, by me.

I think the madness behind it was that in order to prove that I'm not egocentric (the new subject of mine in that class) I would show that a fundraiser for me would not garner any financial support from anyone, whereas other fundraisers would. Not a strong argument.

Maybe one day if I have the patience or desire to, I'll make this an actual thing, capable of receiving donations. At least that way it would be more than just funny. It could also be unprofitable.

A Dire Need

I think I'm having withdrawals from not pranking anybody. This is serious business.

The last time I got a really good prank was when a good friend Aaron and I wrote 'HIV' (part of a long and juvenile/awesome game) on the truck window of our other friend Frank, then rolled it down, broke a completely separate window that we bought, and scattered the glass everywhere. Man did that rock. It even snowed the next day and he didn't know. He called his insurance company, too. Couldn't have been better. Can you imagine calling your insurance company for a broken window, then calling them back to say that you were mistaken? My bad, my window isn't actually broken, I just thought it was?

As a matter of fact, Frank is the best friend I have for pranking. Something about his mindset makes pranking him roughly a million times better than my other friends. Not to say I haven't/won't prank my other friends. But it isn't the same.

Maybe I'm just antsy because I haven't done anything worthwhile in, well, quite a while. Today was basically me doing poorly at a midterm, putting up with snow, finishing Bulletstorm (a Meh+ game) and eating a Cola-flavored Airhead, which is the candy version of taking one for the team. And I'm currently concluding my day writing the penultimate blog entry for my grade while my roommates engage in Pokemon battle in the other room.

So things certainly could be worse.

I think the next prank will happen soon. It's been planned for a while. We are going to put a couple of marbles in an Altoids tin, wrap it in duct tape, and then fixate it to the bottom of Franks car. That way, every bump/turn will make it sound like a small part of his truck is falling apart. We'll add one a week. This prank has actually been in a sort of prank limbo (prankatory) for a while, so this time I really really mean it. This Saturday. Honest. Unless he reads this (which I doubt).

I'm positive that a Pranks on Frank YouTube channel would be rad, but I don't think the pranks that we play are meant for video. They take time, and the humor kind of grows with how long they remain. That might be the same for this blog.

Last week

It's been about twenty-five minutes since I have come back to school and I'm already back to people-watching. There is a gigantic man in front of me with a shirt that says 'ENOUGH SAID'. This shirt is hiked up to his upper-middle back because of his fat lethargic slouching. Enough said indeed, sir. Perhaps too much.

St. Patrick's day was a good time this year. Nothing wrong with a little Stereotyping O' the Irish. I volunteered to be the Designated Driver the day before and was told to meet up with my mates at 11 A.M. People familiar with my sleep schedule can recognize this as a classic Dick Move. So I was exhausted all day and ended up falling asleep at some ridiculous time for a drinking holiday, like 9 P.M or something. Embarrassing. Boy were my ears burning. I didn't even drive that much. But my mates got me a beer and some sort of authentic boar bratwurst that tasted like any ordinary hotdog (read: perfectly good) AND a badass shirt, so I certainly can't complain, or shouldn't anyway.

Now the same mates and I are engaged in a competition to stay sober and lose weight for thirty days. It's kind of like Super Size Me, only the exact opposite and not entertaining at all. We were supposed to have a collective bet on it, but I refuse to participate in that aspect because I am incredibly broke, and there isn't even an intelligent form of regulation for this. We're apparently basing it off of actual pounds lost, despite the fact that some of the contenders are clearly fatter. I think halfway through the competition I'll fake a breakdown and spend the rest of the time developing a taste for hard alcohol and fast food. In front of them.

Loudly.

Free Sister to Good Home OBO

People that know me become aware of two things.
1) My mothers house has too many cats.
2) Believe it or not, this isn't really her fault.

My mother loves cats. It is a cat household and has been since I was small. That's quite a long time. My sister is reponsible for the majority of the cats being at my mothers house, however. I'm not sure how it works exactly, but I bet it's something like

Sister acquires cat, falls in love with cat
Sister brings cat to mothers house, mother falls in love with cat
Sister decides to hate cat
Mother acquires cat

It's not an exact science. But my mother is okay with it. She loves those cats. I love the cats as well, but it is easier for me because I'm not often there. The problem now is my sister.

Earlier today, my sister found that somecat had taken the liberty to use her room as the bathroom. This isn't the first time it has happened and it probably won't be the last, although the issue had come under control. Her response? Put the accused cat on Craigslist. [technically] My cat.

Oh Hell no.

This is my cat. That is my mug. That was my tea.

I quickly visited my cat at his office and asked him about the situation. He (the cat) was both surprised and quite concerned regarding the incident and the action.

"What about my right to a trial?" My cat inquired.

"Such legalities do not apply to cats," I informed him. His ears went back at this information.

The two of us consulted further on the matter. What is the best way for everyone to be happy? What can be done to ensure my sisters happiness (clearly her prerogative) while preserving that of my mother, cats, and self?

It was then that we realized a potential answer lay right under our noses. So I have taken the liberty to offer my sister on Craigslist, in lieu of my cat. I don't know if the ad will last the 45 days, as I really tried to sweeten the deal. Tell your friends!

Real Simple is a stupid magazine

I am aware that, as a male, women's interest magazines are not going to hold any appeal to me. But I do like to cook, and my mother offered me one of the more recent volumes so I could check out the recipes inside. As I was leafing through the pages, I couldn't help but laugh out loud at how straight-up ridiculous some of their offers are. People that don't skim through this are actually missing out.

First and foremost, as of at least January 2011 (I know fashion travels fast), the 'Most Wearable Trend Right Now' is MODERN SAFARI. What the crap. I'm both disappointed and relieved that nobody appears to be doing that around here. Didn't Banana Republic start off doing that like thirty years ago and then stop, as nobody wanted to do that? It doesn't matter. I'd be way more interested if they accessorized a machete, pith helmet, and elephant gun.

Also, I have, wear, and enjoy expensive clothing. But when you title your magazine as 'Real Simple', I think it's misleading to almost exclusively promote overly expensive products. It's like their target market is a woman who is a housewife who happens to have no knowledge of personal finances. And a desire for a sixty-dollar non-electric juicer. That's niche marketing right there.

At any rate, I'm going to hotlink some particularly great pictures featuring an unhealthily skinny woman modeling clothes in a grocery store. I'll also give you the link.
Also, the photos were taken by Christopher Griffith. Remember that. Christopher Griffith shot these photos. Not me. They aren't mine. Christopher Griffith.

"Oh man, 117 calories? Guess I'll just have a half serving.. but I'm so tired, I have to sit on these cans."

"By not eating food, I have more money for clothes! Tee-hee!"

In this photo, she isn't saying anything. She's clearly weary from hunger and staring into the distance.

"I can't wait until I'm done with this shoot, so I can treat myself to a Fig Newton!"

"I have a shopping cart filled with fruit so I can make the most out of my sixty-dollar juicer."

In this one, she's either hot from all that modeling and needs to sit in the refrigerated section, or she's weak from hunger, because she doesn't eat. She might be trying to look attractive in a grocery store, but that option is a distant third. 

Crime is King

In this tiny desert of about 400,000 people, I estimate that there are at MOST seven police officers doing anything at any given time. And their priority target seems to be me, and my stupid garbage headlight.

Pretty much every time that I have sped, or in one case, followed too closely, the law has been quick, ready, and able to pull me over, lest I commit these crimes again. Currently, the new threat to everyones' safety is my headlight.

It's an electrical issue, and my Nissan Maximumcost has a tendency to pull my pants down over every problem/price that it gets. I don't have the money to try and get it fixed, so I figure that the only thing to do is wait until I can fix it. The police have reminded me no less than seven times about this.

I know that it's my job to get it fixed and all that, but what I'm getting at is that now whenever I drive anywhere, people are rocketing past me, blissfully aware that if there's going to be any police activity from the seven police officers, it's going to involve me and my stupid headlight. I'm almost positive that last time I got pulled over I got to see an entire limousine full of people drive by, firing pistols into the air, trying to hit half-full vodka bottles.

At any rate, if you ever decide to visit this place, feel free to speed.

Quiet disappointment

The following was written during class, as the first sentence quickly reveals.

Currently, in my IS class (the class that effectively spawned this blog), there is this girl who absolutely needs to text. It is CRITICAL to this girl that she text during class. It's interesting to me because I have absolutely no desire to talk to anyone before 1 PM, and this girl has an undeniable need at 11 in the morning.
(I am aware that 11 in the morning yields no emphasis to a lot of people. I don't care.)

The best thing about this text-addicted classmate is that she is doubtlessly the worst at hiding it. In the world. She moves her whole body to cocoon her obvious black iPhone 3g(s), and she stares/types for way, WAY longer then you should for secrecy, or really for any messaging other than transcribing The Great Gatsby or something. Which she totally wouldn't. Clifford the Big Red Dog, maybe.

At this point in my initial writing I mentioned something about how if you find a lecture particularly dull, and if texting isn't allowed and you don't like to write, you should just politely get absorbed in your own thoughts. A few hours of reflection on this idea, however, and I remembered that I've heard this girl speak (several times, really loudly, in class), and as such I bet getting lost in her thoughts is like a limbo or purgatorial state. I imagine it would be like walking in a straight line forever across a white sheet of paper populated with her crude drawings of dogs or something.

Cuss, she's doing it again. Incredible. If she were a spy, she'd be the one with the huge black trenchcoat and sunglasses, sitting on a bench, holding an upside-down copy of Highlights for Kids and looking right at you.

Be Concerned

It may be because I started watching The X-Files, but I have a high degree of certainty that the owners of the tiny Chinese food place near where I live are some form of extraterrestrial life.

It couldn't be like X-Files aliens, or Fire in the Sky, I'm talking about like Men in Black, or Third Rock From the Sun. Lighthearted and not too serious aliens just trying to eke out a living the best that they can, which happens to be operating a tiny Chinese restaurant in a tiny desert. I don't know how aliens think. Maybe this is a great deal for them. Maybe they come from a planet that is entirely like Mexico or something, I don't know.

Anyways,

I took this picture while everyone on the other side of the counter either scurried about with no visible purpose or were overtaken by their own thoughts. The real point here is the Sesame Street wrapping paper.

What the hell is the point of that? Seriously, any idea would be great. Why would you have anything in a clear display that you'd want to hide, and why would you think that a disgustingly colorful set of wrapping paper is the way to do it? Besides, you have to be able to see it over the counter, which is kind of a deterrent for any child right there.

I don't have anything against Sesame Street. I was a kid once. But every time I see that wrapping paper, I can't help but imagine some alien logic going into its placement. It's like the equivalent of a shirt that says 'I ♥ EARTH CULTURE'. It's so out of place it hurts. Hurts enough for me to write about it, anyway.

Fun Fact: This is not the only example of my 'Aliens run sub-par Chinese restaurants' deal. In fact, it's the lesser of the two examples. I literally remembered the other one and how much better evidence it would be in the middle of writing this, so I decided to leave and go get a picture of it. I ended up ordering food at the other offending establishment so as to not just waltz in there and photograph, and I returned home COMPLETELY FORGETTING what I had bothered to go there for in the first place. I literally ate Chinese food for two meals in the same day while hating on the restaurants that provided it. I'm human garbage.

But that Twice-Cooked Pork is the cat's pajamas.

An Evaluation of the Homeless/Insane Woman I encountered Today

Today I drove from my residence over to a potential job site. I do this just to see where the best route is, because it feels like a smart thing to do and I also rarely have anything better to do. I was sitting at a red light and trying to decipher the vanity plate in front of me (FSTNMBL; I guess Fast 'N' Mobile but it was an SUV, so maybe 'Fisting Mabel') when a woman started to walk into traffic from my left, across six lanes, to the other side.  She was dragging a hand dolly behind her that looked to have two pristine green boxes and two Dr. Pepper-case-looking boxes on it. The only remarkable clothing on her was her biker/1940's fighter pilot goggles and her knee-high black rubber galoshes, which are both remarkable when you don't need to wear them. She would get mad as people had to suddenly stop to accommodate her, so she was constantly doing the 'jerk-off' hand motion to people. She was probably between 40 and 70, because being either homeless or insane really ages you I think.

HOMELESS OR INSANE? (OR BOTH??) (OR NEITHER???)

Goggles- Insane, it's not worth it to try and prep for a dust storm here and she probably doesn't own a biplane.

Galoshes - Homeless, it's always smart to prepare for the elements when you live outside. It had recently snowed.

Hand Dolly - Homeless, I like to think that the future's hobos will forgo the shopping cart or trash bags in favor of this. It's classy. When I'm a hobo (a future I can't truly eliminate) I will use a hand dolly. All the other hobos will marvel at the sleek form in which I carry my belongings and want to hang out, and then we'll start a band. Or I'll get shanked.

Pristine Boxes - Both, but it really depends on whats in them. I will not guess about it.

Jerk-off Hand Gesture - Neither, I see plenty of people do this and they're usually just stupid or being facetious.

Pay Attention

     A wise friend of mine suggested that I get the attention of the legions of stumblers that might potentially visit here by happy accident. He continued by suggesting that I use either fireworks or side-boob to accomplish this. I'm glad that he posted examples, seeing as spend my waking hours daydreaming or trying to spin a pencil between my fingers (I can't) and as such am unable to relate.
 
     Armed with this knowledge, I immediately encountered a roadblock in my delivery. I wasn't sure how to procure the required attention-grabbing image. I couldn't freehand a drawing because fireworks have to be colorful, and there are no colored pencils or markers here because no one in this apartment is nine years old. A greyscale firework drawing is almost indistinguishable from a dandelion, or the scribble that you make when you test old pens. So that was out.

     It's also been several years since I owned a copy of Adobe Creative anything, and I wasn't about to scale the ice mountain to my school to use the public computers to try and combine breasts and fireworks. Although in hindsight, I've never seen anyone use the computers responsibly.

THINGS I HAVE WITNESSED PEOPLE DOING ON PUBLIC COMPUTERS IN SCHOOL

1) An adult woman frequenting the Habbo Hotel.

2) An early-twenties man/mannequin ordering teacups.

3) A guy that couldn't be older than nineteen, painstakingly (and painfully, for me) creating Sonic the Hedgehog artwork.

4) A young(?) woman who couldn't be more Asian if she had a katana, looking at a website that was Japanese and that had more colors than a warehouse sized Crayola box. It was like someone vomited the entire Sherwin-Williams catalog onto this site. It made the Fresh Prince look like Steamboat Willy in comparison.

     So at the time, I didn't know what to do or where to go. But there was the ever faithful yet totally terrible MS Paint. So, just like intercourse or murder, you work with the materials given.

Oh yeaaaaaaa. Check out that MS Paint quality. And I know it isn't 'side-boob' but when given the choice nobody picks that. This is the material of attention-getting legend. Imagine seeing this on a poster downtown somewhere, in all of it's art-lacking glory. You'd elbow your friend immediately. You'd hardcore elbow your friend.

Snow is miserable

If someone asked what I would want the weather to be like I would never answer with "shitting snow everywhere" and you wouldn't either. There are only a few things that are more miserable than it starting to snow when you're at school and you don't have the necessary materials to rug up and trudge through the mud to your car. 

One thing that's more miserable is driving in the snow. I'm not nervous about it or bad at it. It's the other two types of people that make it awful. They are

1) The individuals that are either so nervous or safety-conscious that they drive thirty miles under the speed limit but still won't let you in their lane, and

2) The individuals that think that 4WD somehow translates to 'Magic Carpet' and rock their Ford F-1,050 through everyone so fast you'd think there was some UFC/ICP/WWE free t-shirt giveaway on the other side of town. Their bullshit makes all the type 1's even more skittish and scared, effectively making the middleman (me) take an extra hour to really get anywhere in a small town where fifteen minutes is the max.

It would also be miserable to be pantsed by a bear. 

Things that I learn between late night and early morning

     There is a magical couple of hours, usually starting at 10:00 PM and concluding around 3:00 AM, where I learn some important things. They may be insight to myself or observations, but I seem to accrue at least a few every week. I recently wondered where I would be in life if I wasn't armed with this knowledge, but it seems like I'd still be right where I was so I dismissed the thought and went back to eating sweet onion chips and looking out the window.

THINGS I HAVE LEARNED DURING THESE WONDROUS HOURS

If something is thrown at me, I will do one of two things. If the object is not food, I will do a full-body wince in a feeble attempt for a 6'3" man to make himself smaller. If the object is food, I will catch it with dexterity usually reserved for cats and whatever the plural for 'mongoose' is. Mongooses.

Some people will want to fight you no matter how little you've said to anyone, or how recently you've arrived where you are. These people are in every town everywhere, in varying numbers, and there are rules that make it so you can't hit them with your car. It is wise to invest in an equally belligerent friend for these situations.

It is impossible to eat a quarter-pound ham/cheeseburger in less than two bites.

If someone notices you looking at a tattoo of theirs, and they launch into an explanation or a justification of their tattoo because they know it's garbage, if you say anything that isn't a big smiley face (: D) of a statement they will get mad at you. This may or may not lead into Thing Number Two.

Just because your friend is colorblind does not mean he cannot argue the color of something.

One of the best games to play is 'Your Team'. This game is great, especially for people-watchers like myself. What you do is, you find people who either look really awesome and call out 'My team', or you find people that look crazy awful, and put them on other peoples team. There's no score, but you do get props for clever ways of going about it, ex: "Wow Aaron, you must have a team meeting over there."

the last one really focuses on those magic hours. I mean, you can play it whenever but the best games take place then.

Number One

     George Shearing passed away this week, lowering the amount of blind badass musicians to a drastically low number that I don't actually know. If I were a musician I would just wear big black sunglasses and get someone to assist me everywhere and see if anyone assumed. First I'd have to develop the ambition to be a musician as opposed to a music appreciator. At any rate, go listen to him and enjoy some nice jazz for about three minutes.
    
     The weather here is currently ridiculous. I was able to watch it go from zero to bullshit in about five minutes. I've been told that the idea of bad weather being inextricably linked to me vocalizing a desire for Vietnamese food is rubbish but the evidence has really come through today. I don't remember how to check my room(s) for wiretaps and other spy material but I'm considering learning, if I can read it quickly.
    
     Naturally, once the idea of Vietnamese food was tossed and replaced with generic pizza from a closer grocery superstore the snow quietly abated. I toddled around the store and marveled at other people as I waited for my pizza to be fabricated by a man named 'Conor' who spoke as if he was pushing words out of a tube of toothpaste. I will include one example below. Don't raise your voice higher if you decide to say it yourself. Keep a low tone.

How're you doing? = Heeyrr doounn (Hee-yerrr Doo-un)

     I assume he talks to people regularly like that, unless something about me looked primitive, which is possible because I have a beard and today was 'Indoors Day'. As I drove home I thought about other things which would be great to say in that kind of voice. I decided on 'Reading the Great Gatsby' but really anything wordy and intellectual would be funny. Apparently Conor descends from Conchobar, a far cooler name. Conor just looks misspelled. Conchobar sounds like it either comes with a claymore or maracas.