Brain Droppings

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cane. Great for Christmas blow jobs. But be very careful not to let the tattoo guy bend your penis into a J shape.

Get the words, “tote bag” tattooed on your scrotum. Or “Bloomingdale’s” might be good. “Cartier” would be more appropriate; a little hairy pouch for your precious jewels.

How about a tattoo of the Three Stooges peering into your asshole? Or a serpent coming out? Or a nice tattoo of Mado

Here would be a great tattoo for right in the middle of your forehead: “I have colored ink in my skin!” Or, “Your message here. Fifty cents.” How about, “Yeah, it’s a tattoo, you miserable prick! Right in the middle of my forehead. If you don’t like it, suck my dick!” This will really keep you from having to deal with that bothersome job market.

And here’s a solution to an age old tattoo problem. If your girlfriend’s name, say, “Suzie,” is tattooed on your arm, and you break up with her, don’t have the tattoo removed. Just have the tattoo reworked so it says, “Fuck Suzie.”

By the way, you don’t actually have to do all these things; they’re just suggestions. Think them over first. Sit down, have six or seven vodkas, and give them a few seconds thought.

Besides, you wa

Everyone’s skin has imperfections. It’s unavoidable. Pockmarks, wrinkles, bullet holes, scars, blotches, stab wounds, cysts, warts, needle holes, acne pits, enlarged pores.

6 GEORGE C A R L I N I think people should see these imperfections and disfigure-h ments as positive things. Flaws and defects can actually be forms of decoration.

Take moles, God’s punctuation marks. Moles are great, and they can be useful if you want a really interesting look. b The only problem is they’re usually randomly placed; they don’t represent anything. I think plastic surgeons should offer a new service: rearranging people’s moles. Think of your moles as fashion accessories. “God, look at all the moles that guy has!” “Yes, and aren’t they nicely arranged?” There are lots of things you can do with moles: make the double helix, do a happy Hitler face, spell out the name of your bowling team. And how about moles with velcro, so you 4 could change your look every day? Here’s something novel. Choose a good size mole on your arm, and tattoo little legs sticking out of the sides. People will constantly be trying to shoo the “bug” off your arm. It’s great for picking up girls. b

Next, body-piercing. Now, the piercing movement is off to a good start, and I like the idea behind it: self-esteem through self-mutiliation. I’ve always said, when in doubt, punch a hole in yourself. That’s fine, but I think the piercing people are missing a good bet. Vital organs. I mean, skin is one thing. That’s easy. But how about getting your lungs or kidneys K pierced? Why not some lovely diamond studs all over the surface of your liver? Or a couple of nice 18-karat gold rings hanging from your thyroid gland?

Brain Droppings

But, you know, stuff like this might not be dangerous enough for today’s happenin’ people. What’s really go

brain droppings b everyone has melanomas. Then you’ll start to see “fashion skin cancer.” It’ll probably start in Malibu. People will use their skin cancers to form little designs. Since it’s Malibu, a lot of them will do their zodiac sign. Of course, if your sign is Cancer, you’ll be in real good shape.

I believe skin cancer will eventually become part of every American’s fashion arsenal. “That’s a lovely growth, i Bambi. Twenty millimeters and right between your eyes. God, I’m so jealous!”

Before I leave this subject, I have two more ideas for the truly avant garde: How about living small, live mammals medically grafted onto your skin? Wouldn’t you like to have a prairie dog living in the middle of your chest, sharing your blood supply? How about an adult male Norwegian rat sewn onto the top of your head, keeping an eye on everything? b

I think we also might take a page from Africa’s book and get into deliberate scarring. Not ritual scars that form coherent designs. Random scarring! Let a bunch of drunks with swords inflict hundreds of small, deep cuts on your skin. Or have a friend throw boiling grease all over you, then sit back and see what develops.

I don’t believe the body-decorating trend has reached its peak yet, and as it does, I shall try to be at the forefront, always pointing America toward the hot new look.

m glad sunscreen has been shown to be associated with more skin :r rather than less. It’s not in the mainstream media yet, but the st jump in skin cancer has occurred since the advent of sunscreens, kind of thing makes me happy. The fact that people, in pursuit of a ?ficial look of health, give themselves a fatal disease. I love it when oning” human beings think they have figured out how to beat thing and it comes right back and kicks them in the nuts. God bless aw of unintended consequences. And the irony is impressive: :hy people, trying to look healthier, make themselves sick. Good!

brain droppings

And then when you get there, no one cares at all. No one even tries to read the writing. And all the other guys turn out to be dorks who will wear any piece of shit that’s handed to them. Like “Property of Alcatraz,” “No Fear,” “Gold’s Gym,” and “Life Is a Beach.” What a letdown.

Personally I haven’t worn T-shirts with writing on them for about ten years, but I do own what I consider to be the coolest T-shirt in the world. It’s plain white, and inside a kind of faded maroon circle, in an odd, feminine sort of print, it says, “Fuck the Cows.” But it’s about two sizes too small. Ain’t that always the way?

finally escaped what I think of as the “Coolest T-shirt Trap.” I real-that no matter how cool I think my T-shirt is, no one else is go

to wear, because you’re going to a place where there’ll be a :h of guys you’ve never met; guys you might even secretly want apress. So you settle on that special black, limited-edition num-that your brother brought back from the Middle East. The one shows Saddam Hussein peeking out of a garbage can, flashing niddle finger and saying, “Ha ha, Mister Bush, you missed me. I here at home all the time.” And you think, “No one has ever . a shirt like this; this will make them jealous. They’ll all want it wonder where I got it. I’ll definitely have the coolest T-shirt.”

You know how sometimes, at a busy cocktail party, when you’re telling a group of people a story, a few of them may become distracted, and you lose their attention? So you concentrate a little harder on the ones who are still listening? You know that feeling? And then, because it’s a lively party, a few more of them drift away? And as your audience slowly peels off one by one, after a while you wind up addressing any person you can find who’s willing look at you. Even the busboy. And then you realize the busboy doesn’t understand English. Isn’t that awful?

Sometimes, a person some distance away from you will say something you can’t quite understand, so you ask them to repeat it, and you still can’t make it out. You try two or three more times without any luck, and by then you’re getting embarrassed, so you pretend to understand, and just say, “Yeah!” so you can be done with it. Later, it turns out they said, “We’re coming over tonight to remove your wife’s ovaries. Will that be all right?”

EORGE C A R L I N MTRKAU

One recent morning there was something I couldn’t remember. rt of knew what it was related to, but I couldn’t quite bring it i0 ind. It seemed like the letter m was involved. Then, suddenly, it car^ me. That was in the morning. Then, later that afternoon, evun ough I was able to recall my experience that morning of not beiw >le to remember something, I could no longer remember what t’fle ing was, what it was related to, or what letter of the alphabet ha(j >en involved. But what’s strange to me is that that morning, the fiySf me I couldn’t remember it, the thing did eventually come back to nie-iter that afternoon, however, in spite of my earlier success, I dreT/y a )mplete blank. I still don’t know what it was, and the nice thing js lat a month from now I will have no memory of the incident )ever. Unless, of course, something reminds me of it.