24 June, 2010

Pot, Free Shit, And Locks

Pot, Free Shit, And Locks


I saw a commercial I hate yesterday. No, it wasn’t the Old Spice commercials because they are the second greatest commercials ever made. And no, it wasn’t The Most Interesting Man In The World commercials. They are the greatest commercials ever made. No, I’m talking about the PSA’s that try to tell parents that they should be less flippant and more authoritative about how they talk about drugs with their kids. Let me preface by saying that I’ve never taken an illegal drug in my life. That’s a fact; Wikipedia that shit. In the commercial, the mother is sharing clothes with the teen girl. The mother selects a jacket and the teen girl tells her no because it smells like pot. First off, no teenager calls weed ‘pot.’ No teenager has ever said, “Don’t wear this, it smells like pot.” It just hasn’t happened since 1973. And secondly, what kind of state is our society in when we have to have television commercials to tell parents how to parent? The commercials are better off just saying, “Now remember to be a parent because when you have a kid, you have to parent it. Don’t forget.” My opinion about drugs doesn’t matter, but these PSA’s are absurd. It just shows how much trust lies in the ability of the average person to be a good parent. If that’s the case, let’s start having applications to become parents. I’m sorry miss, your application to be a mom has been denied.

I’ve been catching shit for posting blogs that I wrote a while ago and never posted. So this one is being written on the Friday after last week’s blog was posted, and will be posted on the very next Thursday. Happy? See, sometimes I binge and write fifteen in a week, and other times I’m blocked. Also, I just finished a novel so that’s been taking up my writing time. In other words, this shit is free. Take it for what it is. (You know I love you guys. Well, I don’t love anything. I hate less you guys.)

Several people have pointed me in the direction of an image that’s circulating through the internets, and I’m going to talk about it. The first was Alana at the bookstore, just to be fair to her, then Craig posted it on the Mystic Facebook page. After that, a dozen people dropped me emails so I’m not going to name you all. All of that explanation was unnecessary.

The image that was sent to me was a how-to image. It showed a kid from behind with stretched lobes, next to it a plus sign (+ for those who like symbols), and next to that, a padlock. The kind of lock you’d use on a locker or bike or something else of value that would require locking. Underneath the image arithmetic are the steps to make the formula make sense. It reads, “1. Find a large padlock. 2. Find the nearest hipster with large tunnel plugs. 3. Lock it onto their ear. 4. Run like fuck.” Let’s discuss.

My first impression is this. Hipster. This reads to me as if the person who photoshopped his way into internet celebrity (which is a terribly pointless thing to be) has a problem with hipsters and only hipsters. Since any type of person can have stretched lobes and this little wonderful image specifically calls out hipsters, I can only assume that this only applies to hipsters with stretched lobes. If it is meant to be applied to anyone with stretched lobes, then the inclusion of the hipster word muddies the intention a bit. I am not a hipster, and I have stretched lobes. Does this apply to me? I know goths with large lobes; does it apply to them? Punks, metalheads, and yes, even hippies. You know who else can have stretched lobes? Men, women, blacks, whites, mothers, fathers, grandmothers, grandfathers, uncles, aunts, straightedges, junkies, circus freaks, gays, lesbians, Americans, Europeans, Africans, Asians, athletes, trashmen, doctors, business owners, self employed, artists, laborers, readers, musicians, waiters, bartenders, tall, short, thin, fat, religious, atheist, blind, deaf, handicapped, able, young, old, students, teachers, and pretty much anyone who has a pulse and a breath can have his lobes stretched. I guess hipster can be any one of these people, but any one of these people isn’t necessarily a hipster.

Secondly, you can’t have tunnels and plugs at the same time, stupid. A plug is a solid piece of material that (wait for it…) ‘plugs’ the hole in the lobe. A tunnel is a hollow piece of material that provides a path through the hole in the lobe, like a (wait for it…) tunnel. The fucking moron that designed this postulate doesn’t seem to understand the vocabulary. If you’re going to make fun of me, get your words right, idiot.

Step three says to “lock it onto their ear.” Do I have to detail that if we’re talking about a singular person then using the ‘their’ word implies the plural? The way grammar, usage, syntax and all of that was taught, the proper word ought to be ‘his.’ Or, if you’re a PC asshole ‘his or her.’ Not their. That’s just bad English. To be fair, that’s also my being an asshole for pointing that out.

“Run like fuck” is the last step. This is probably the wisest element of the entire process. Why? Because if someone did this to me, I wouldn’t have a problem with spending the night in prison. By suggesting that the last step is to run, the creator of this bullshit is providing the connotation that what he is doing is wrong. It’s an admission of guilt, and rightly so. If people actually think this is a good idea, then their running skills best be top notch; I know too many people with stretched lobes that would be willing to test the perpetrator’s fifty meter time.

I sick of being the punch line for jokes like this, kids. The spermwaste that designed this little gag is idiotic, inconsiderate, and inciting the possibility of behavior that is dangerous to people in the modification culture. Someone clandestinely locking a heavy metal thing into your lobe could result in a litany of injuries. Any of us who have had a blowout or any kind of tear will know what I’m talking about. Not to mention the absurd and blatantly rude assumption that my personal space and my modifications are for the amusement of the inconsiderate and ignorant people around me.

We have enough to worry about in regards to what unmodified people think of us. Don’t misunderstand me, now; we modified and understood what came with it. To bitch that we are a minority or a culture that requires legal protection is just as ridiculous as this little gag. With that said, we accept the stares, we accept the inane questions, we accept the broad statements of opinion such as, “that looks like it hurt.” Dealing with this type of interaction with strangers is one thing. Some days it pisses me off more than other days, but on the whole, I’ll never punish a stranger for his curiosity, and you shouldn’t either. The stranger that opens his mouth and shares his real opinion, whether I agree with it or not, is a much more honorable person than the one who points or whispers to his companion something that he doesn’t have the cock and balls to say to my modified face. If people are going to have opinions, they should have them without conditions, and they should own those opinions.

But my modified, ‘hipster’ opinion doesn’t matter, does it kids. People are still going to see this image and think of the humor associated with it. They aren’t going to think of the insensitivity. They aren’t going to think of the invasion of personal space. They aren’t going to think of the danger that some asshole kid (the best part of whom dried up on his mother’s thigh) is going to take this image as a suggestion. This image speaks to me as just as comedic as my saying, “Carry a small tube of soap around with you so that when you see sluts in those stupid boots, you can squirt the floor and watch them ass out on the ground.” Are we jesters for other people to fuck with? Maybe I have it all wrong and we should all only ever make jokes at the expense of what other people enjoy. Fucking people and their misinformation about my culture. They need to die in a way that prevents their having an open casket funeral. Now doesn’t that sound just as ridiculous? Stay beautiful, kids.

Talk to A. Robert Basile on AIM at Basilephone
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  1. I feel this. Honestly, I'm a huge guy, I smoke and I haven't really tried to run since high school. My lobes aren't very big, but when they are stretched farther, if someone tried to put a padlock in it, I believe I could qualify for the Olympic 40.

    Also, I prefer two kinds of people talking about my mods. The unmodded person who wants to discuss them and see what it's all about, and the person who's brave ebough to talk shit about them to my face. Anyone else, below my attention as far as I'm concerned.

  2. I'm not going to drop my typical words here as I'm tired and don't feel the need to stand for myself anymore. I'm on my own planet and I'm almost comfortable being there alone.

    I am going to say, as a non-voter, I would be tempted to register if my extra vote was needed to pass a law on enforcing an application for parenthood.