A couple of my typically brilliant and insightful musings have been tumbling around in the old dome-piece/oven lately, so here you go. (P.S. note the musically-themed titles for additional shits and giggles.)
O Tranny Boy – No you goddamn gear heads not transmissions, transgender-whatever-the-fucks. I’m sorry, I just don’t get it. Now gay is one thing, I’m with you on that one, but chopping off your cock and balls or flipping your twat inside out is a hideous mutilation as far as I’m concerned. And what’s worse, medical science has been steadily improving on Frankensteining the human genitalia and natural gender to the point of genuine confusion. How in the fuck do you justify spending any medical research funding whatsoever on figuring out that useless shit? Oh I’m sorry, I must have not heard the announcement that medical science has cured all disease and can now focus on hacking away at people’s naughty bits. Even Dr. Mengele would call that malpractice.
I can’t recall the exact name for it, but there’s a mental illness that makes people want to chop off one or more of their limbs for the fantasy-driven and insane reason that the limbs somehow don’t belong to them, or were never destined to be there in the first place. Sound familiar? Such ridiculous nonsense is treated accordingly, and it’s actually illegal for a person to remove one of their limbs for this reason. But chopping off your dick is supposed to receive a standing ovation?
Sixty years ago lobotmies were accepted medical procedures, and now they’re looked back on as a primitive and unnecessary tinkering with humanity. In the coming decades, I have a feeling this transgender garbage will be viewed in very much the same way.
Bed Kennedys – This week came the rather unsurprising news that the Kennedy brothers known by their initials, the notorious JFK and RFK, tag-teamed Marilyn Monroe some fifty-odd years ago. What was surprising however is that there’s some kook out there claiming to have a home movie of the most famous threesome in history. You think Pamela Anderson and Tommy Lee’s sex tape was in high demand? This shit will be watched more than the Zapruder film.
But if you ask me, it’s a big bag of bullshit. The bag’s bursting at the seams in fact. First of all, if this tape is really in existence, why in the fuck has it been collecting dust in some asshole’s basement for half a century? The money you’d make off selling that prized gem would make those gold coin-finding old fogies in Cali look like skid row bums. Secondly, the auction of this supposed fuck flick is reportedly going to be conducted prior to any pre-screening of the film whatsoever, so you don’t know what you’re getting. It could be the auctioneer banging his wife in a Kennedy mask for all you know.
The Kennedys were world-class cooz hounds, but this seems more than just a little far-fetched to me. Plus, a three-way with your brother? Who are they, the Bush’s?
Age Against The Machine – There’s nothing so depressing as the sudden realization that you’re an old-ass nigga. I’m gonna turn thirty next month, but much more than the simple numerical increase is the general constant reminder of, “Jesus. How’d I get so old?”
The shit I grew up listening to is being played on classic rock and hip hop stations. I can’t comprehend the abysmal taste in fashion and music of today’s youth. I find myself telling stories that begin with, “Well back in my day…” I’m becoming a goddamn old codger.
My friend’s young kids burst into astonished giggles when I lament that the dazzling technology they’re so casually immersed in wasn’t even in existence when I was their age. “VCR?” One recently exclaimed with genuine puzzlement, “What’s a VCR?” Damn kids are pausing live TV nowadays and it ain’t no thing like a chicken wing on a string. From Burger King.
All I keep thinking about is many years ago in a Simpson’s episode where such impending doom was unknowingly laid out before me. It’s a flash back to the 70’s and teenage Homer and Barney are in Homer’s room dancing and singing along to the music of the day when Homer’s father barges in. They exchange insults about eachother’s differing generational taste in tunes before Homer explains to him that he’s just not “With it.” Then his pops proceeds to leave some jewels in his skull that if can sell if he chose: “I used to be with ‘it,’ He explains. “But then they changed what ‘it’ was. Now what ‘it’ is is weird and scary to me,” Then he wheeled around to point at Homer and add menacingly, “It will happen to you!”
And I’ll be damned, it’s happened to me.