This thing is huge, my middle name is Kurt, not Fart, and I am not a security threat!

If I am going to do something as cliché as join the Peace Corps in a ‘effort to find myself,’ wouldn’t one then expect me to do something as cliché as grow my hippie mane complete with ZZ Top beard. So in response to Erin’s astonishment to how hairy I have become, I would like to exercise my divine right to due process and free expression of democracy by calling an election. For all of our faithful blog subscribers, I purpose a vote of hairstyles. On the ballot is my Grateful Dead groupie panache or Erin’s suggested Rasta Locks. I cannot speak for Erin, but I will adhere to the decision of the general public. May I serve to remind that they only way to change hairstyle once you have locks is to shave one’s head. And besides, maybe after two years I will be able to give my hair to Locks of Love.
So on our way back from Kingston, we stayed over with some friends. I stayed with Ryan, a KU Grad, in Clarendon (another parish) and Erin stayed with Tiffanie nearby. Ryan is very, very excited about everything KU and though I find Erin and him hating on Mizzou quite often, he is still cool to hang out with and discuss how cool the Midwest is. Anyway Ryan and I went out to Juici Patti for dinner and a beer. I think Erin mentioned pattis before, they are like fried hot pockets, and Juici Patti is one of the big chains. The Juici Patti in Maypen is by far the biggest Juici Patti I have seen yet and comes complete with game room, sports bar, and pool hall upstairs. And just for frame of reference, that is like eating at a Taco Bell with all the above mentioned accouterments. That night we played Monopoly with Ryan’s host family brothers (3 of them). Monopoly here is extremely cutthroat and I was made aware of new rules that were sketchy at best. Not to brag or anything, but Ryan and I dominated. We had to call a tie between the two of us and chalk up a big victory for Team USA. After our disappointing loss in the 4x100, we have now tied it up at one all. And just for the record, I never thought we had a chance a beating our Jamaican language trainers in a 4x100 relay… had the race been a 4x400 or straight 1600 we might have fared better. We went to bed fairly late considering we had to get up early and meet the girls, but we had the Mexican version of Cinnamon Toast Crunch waiting for us at breakfast. So after punishing a large bowl Erin, Tiffanie, and Brandi meet us and we set out for Denbigh.
Denbigh is a town in Clarendon that happens to host the largest agricultural festival in the West Indes. The closest thing that we have in the States to the Denbigh festival is a state fair. First of all everybody there is certain that we are tourists and for the most part treat us as such. Not like being treated like a tourist in Montego Bay, as most people in Denbigh seem to speak mostly English to us and only chuckle mildly at my attempts to speak patois. There is a picture of me standing next to the biggest cock I have ever seen, and I am not talking about Ryan (just kidding buddy). Erin is a bit timid when it comes to taking and posing for pictures. I think this comes from the intense desire not to be viewed as a tourist. It is my opinion that in some situations since everybody thinks we are tourists anyway, you should go ahead and pose with huge bundles of green bananas and snap away. This last comment is for Jill… I really, really appreciate you sending me the air pump and I wanted to make sure that you knew that I was able to find some balls (see above picture).
Well until next time… Likle Mor!