Monday, October 15, 2012

Somebody Once Told Me the World is Gonna Roll Me a Blunt.

I think it was Smashmouth.  I could be mistaken.

Here we are again, my friends, for another Philosophical Friday!  Wait, it's Monday you say?  Sorry, I jumped to the left, stepped to the right, and before I knew it, I got caught in a time warp again.  Oh well, since I'm here anyway, all set to ramble, and five days ahead of, behind, or sideways to schedule, I might as well make some sort of rant.

But what to get all angry on the internet about... hmm... Ah!  I've got it!  In the gross social order of things, here are the gross things people do to themselves in the name of social order!

Tattoos and body piercings, or as I like to call them "standard masochistic bodily mutilation practices" are two of the more popular forms of self-inflicted harm performed by those who have a Johnny Knoxville fetish.  I may be a little bit old fashioned on the idea, but art belongs on canvas so that you view it and gain some insight in the world, not on your lower back, covered halfway up by an article of clothing, only to be revealed when you bend over as what appears to be a strange growth of hair.  

I've been there with friends as they went through the surgical pain of "inking" without localized anesthetic.  Why, oh why would you let someone use a needle to inject poisons just under the epidermal layer of your skin, causing a permanent discoloration to the affected area?  They don't look cool, no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise, and they continue to look worse with age.  As Robin Williams once put it, you get the barbed wire design, and by the time you turn 70, it's a picket fence.

And speaking of needles piercing skin for no adequately explained reason, body piercings.  Tell me, do you like the thought of someone taking a sharp object and running you through with it?  Hold on.  Let me just go get a spear.  Stand still a moment.  Okay, let me first state that I don't really have a problem with the common earlobe piercing.  Practically every woman in America at least has her earlobes pierced or will eventually.  I still find it to be just another act of self-mutilation, but I've learned to live with that fact that everyone is a borderline psychotic idiot.

My real issue stems from every other piece of flesh man and woman have ever decided to run a metal barb through.  I once met a man who had so many piercings, you ran out of places to cut open, so he pierced his damned wrist.  What the hell is wrong with you?  I can't imagine that this wasn't painful, and if it was, I hope that it was excruciatingly so.  That being said, considering that in the whole of human history, man has sought ways to escape pain, as you have run headfirst into it, please seek psychological help immediately.  Tongue piercing people, in particular.  Tell me.  Did you hate the taste of everything?  Did you always find that there was a missing ball of metal in your mouth?  Were you just annoyed with the fact that you didn't speak with a persistent lisp?  WHY DID YOU DO THIS?!  I need answers like you don't need another hole in your head.

Need to calm my nerves.  I could use a cigarette.  No, mom, I don't smoke.  I'm just using that as a segway to the next item on my agenda.  Yeah, smoker man, you're as stupid as tattoo dude.  I honestly believe the only reason smoking has such staying power in the west is because our civilization wouldn't be here without those little death sticks.  Tabacco is the backbone of American economics and thrived when cotton couldn't cut it.  Perhaps this is because smoking cotton is not nearly as addictive.  Just as a reminder, cigarettes are like instant jaundice.  So if you ever wanted to look like a Simpsons character, take up smoking.  You'll look and sound like Patti and Selma.  If this doesn't sound appealing to you, but you're smoking anyway, I'll be along to collect your lungs.  Trust me, you won't be needing them anymore and they'll thank me for parting them from you.

What other sorts of stupid, revolting things do people do to themselves?  Well, there are mullets, but that's a story for another day.  Have fun at the metal detector, folks.

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