February 22, 2012
Crazy masochists – what are they doing to their bodies! First the silly tattoos that mark them for life as Grade F citizens and now the mutilations. Piercing is for pinheads, many of whom have made themselves so hideously malformed they could pass for sci-fi monsters in some horror flick.
These part-metal creatures aren’t just the young and dumb but folks who claim to be mature – adultoids, grownagers, kidults (your choice, same price). Those whose infantile brain nudges them to follow any trend that comes along, no matter how stoopid.
The rest of us avert our gaze, but the pierced people still flaunt their fixtures and fittings. It’s like they belong to some abominable mutant species. Curl a lump of iron round your neck, stick a banana through your nose. Or a bone the way they do in the jungles of Papua New Guinea where the primitives pray nightly to their newest heavenly god, the Boeing 777.
To what tribe do Spike and Peg belong, that pair of prize clankers. We see American gentlemen in their 40s and 50s and middle-aged ma’ams with hardware poked thru their ears, eyebrows, noses, lips, bellies and further down. And there’s that frightening-looking stud through the tongue that makes their conversation anything but “riveting”.
Whatsay? Speak up, woman! With that barbell in your mouth you’re talking some mumbly stainless steel language that surely ain’t English! Zip your lip, oh - I see you already did that.
Was I attracted to her? In the attraction-type way, no, not in the least, but there was this irresistible force pulling me and it wasn’t love. It was my belt buckle: she must have gotten herself magnetized to attract guys. I’d heard of them doing this, now, to my horror, I was being drawn inexorably towards this grotesquely corroded half-metal hag.
With a clip through the lip who’s going to kiss her? Not me, no way. Nor even without the face metal because such females are usually plainer than a plain brown wrapper.
The tongue thing, as with those pierced genitals like what is known as the Prince Albert (I squirm as I write this) is supposedly an enhancer of sex. But then it turns out you can’t get – ahem - “friendly” with your partner for two months or more after the procedure and you’re forever having to guard against infection and damage. How much fun is that? Your loved one’s whispering sweet nothings in your ear and suddenly she deafens you with: ”Eek! The barbell broke my tooth!”
Choppers do get chipped by the steel tongue jewelry and it’ll also make your English a bit rusty... Ha ha ha, well you guessed - I made that up about the rust. But tongues have turned septic and folks have died.
Unclean or plain unlucky folks have been killed via their tattoos – death by a thousand pricks – but also through piercings, especially that tongue barbell thing, which can cause contamination of the cerebrum. However, God has provided for this, because in order to get an actual brain abscess you need to have an actual brain.
You hear the guys and dolls clinking along with assorted nails, screws, razor blades and other steel items hanging off their features. Walking wind chimes. In a gale, some of these folks’ faces play quite catchy melodies, albeit simple ones to match their intellect. Hey, Mr Tambourine Head, you’re jingle-jangling like in the Bob Dylan song!
And if half of you is a hardware store, if you’re a human/metal alloy, then airport security must be torture. Please Remove All Metal Objects. Owwww! Ouch! Yeeowww! Some might require removal surgery before passing through the detector.
A staple through the eyebrow is bad enough, but there are aficionados who break through the sanity barrier and keep on going. I’m looking at Huron Indian Dennis Avner who’s transformed himself with tattoos, piercings and surgeries into a human tiger. Nearing retirement age and decidedly overweight, he is one fat cat who never grew up.
And there’s the Mexican mother-of-four Maria Jose Cristerna who calls herself La Donna Vampira. At 37 she has huge holes in her stretched earlobes, titanium horn implants in her skull and a mouthful of fangs. Hi kids, Mommy’s home! Why’re you always hiding from me? And take that garlic off the bedposts this instant!
Forget all the other nuts with bolts through their bodies. My favorite, if I’m forced to choose, would be the original. Not the pussycat brave or the brain-dead Undead senora but the undisputed king of body furniture, the guy with the biggest bolt of all... Frankenstein’s monster.
I’m fully aware that for those of the ironwork and metalware persuasion all this is falling on deaf ears - ears with those enormous repulsive holes in the lobes as seen on members of Africa’s Maasai tribe, and on Vampira. And that all this stretching and twisting and piercing and disfiguring will continue regardless.
The new Iron Age folks can be useful at times. Need a particular nut or washer to complete an auto repair? Ask a couple of these decorated dimwits over, one of them should be wearing the right size. For metric invite a European.
Still, might these robopeople actually be more financially savvy than we realize?
Thievery is rampant, so storing your nest egg on your person makes sense. And, with scrap metal yards paying high prices, in time of need you can always... turn yourself in