Yes, In Fact You Are A Number

Posted in Uncategorized on November 21st, 2008 by eddie

If I see one more fucking barcode on some douchebag’s hipster neck, I’m gonna break something.

Solace, Quantum of

Posted in Uncategorized on November 18th, 2008 by eddie

No tits.

I did get to hear about the flensings, though. I guess her mom is from New Zealand and some crazy hippie (I’m disappointed she named her kid Stephanie and not Sunshine or Arwen), so when she was thirteen they flew out to Auckland to have this guy fully cut her neck up as a coming of age ritual. I mean, flensing is hardcore. They cut long strips of skin away and let it heal, then cut deeper until those marks are never, ever coming out. Then they might put a little dye in there. Steph’s are black. It took months, and her mom just worked remotely and rented an apartment and took her to get flensed every couple of weeks, praying and fasting with her, making jewelry and running around the sheep fields naked to commune with the gods.

Steph says she’s glad it happened, that she doesn’t know anyone else who was so damn sure when they stopped being a kid and started being a grown up. She felt weird about the marks at school for awhile, but Steph can put a hole in the office wall with her fist, and has, so I figure she got by ok.

I wish we could hook our Moms up.

Not Stirred.

Posted in Uncategorized on November 17th, 2008 by eddie

I got Steph to let me take her to the new Bond flick. I don’t actually want to see that movie, because I can tell from the previews it’s all about him crying over the girl from the first movie, and that’s just a little too pathetically whatever for me right now, but if it means getting Steph in the dark, I’ll sit through it.

I’m not actually desperate. Stephanie will never let me so much as look at her tits. I guess that makes her safe. Which probably makes me safe to her, which is probably why I won’t get to look at her tits.

Buck up, Bond.

Daddy Issues

Posted in Uncategorized on November 6th, 2008 by eddie

So my dad died a million years ago. I barely remember him. Mostly it was just me and mom and the smithy in the yard.

But my mom kept his ashes in this Waterford crystal urn on the dining room table, which is freaking morbid, if you ask me, because, you know, you can see through crystal, and people-ashes aren’t like fireplace ashes, there’s chunks of bone and crap in there too. So I got to look at my dad’s grey matter for years while I ate my green beans. What. the. fuck.

Yesterday my mom calls me up and drags my ass down to the flats and fucking full-on dumps the crystal into the river. We both just stand there for awhile, watching him float away.

After awhile I say: why did I have to be there for this?

And she says: you want something for lunch?

Tokyo Smash

Posted in Uncategorized on November 1st, 2008 by eddie

I’d say my customers, sorry, patients, are about 70% male. More likely to do something stupid? More likely to regret it? No idea. But this girl came in today with…I don’t even know. It was grotesque. Hello Kitty sucking off Godzilla with the Tokyo skyline burning behind them. On her stomach. I bet that was fun for some guy.

It was kind of fun for me.

Truth is, I haven’t had a girlfriend in two years. After Clare–my ex-wife, for the 3 folks playing at home–left, I just sort of bounced around the local parlors. An inker here, a tramp-stamp aficionado there. It was easy, like going to Burger King. My way right away. But Clare got all fucked up a couple of years ago, painkillers and fruity rum drinks, (she was always like that, all hardcore lawyer pantsuit stuff but sucking down bowls of fruity bullshit that ends in -tini and isn’t a fucking martini) and came over to my house falling all over herself, with this really cute haircut.

Yeah, so I’m an idiot. See the front page of this fucking site. But I missed her, and she was willing, and she didn’t say she was sorry in the morning or anything. She made me breakfast. And I never heard from her again. So there hasn’t been anyone. I guess I’m still waiting for the rum to kick in again and pitch her up against my door.

Or for Stephanie to let me lick her flensings. Hear that, Steph?

That’s what I thought.

Rum is for assholes. Scotch. Yeah.