A Dictionary - Literally

Just can't wait until the case of the DC Madam goes to trial? Feeling pretty nervous about not being able to follow all of the pimp, whore and john lingo that goes along with just such a trial? Or even feeling like you're on somewhat shaky ground with your very, very limited knowledge of the many, many occupation-specific terms that you had no idea even existed? (The acronyms! My God, the acronyms! And the heat.) Don't know what to do or where to turn? Well, fret no more! Thanks to the fine folks over at thesmokinggun.com (well, and me, of course), you will now be able to follow said trial as you bask in your new found knowledge of very hooker-y terms of not very much endearment. Here we go....

All Inclusive - This is what it sounds like. Straight sex and oral sex.

Bareback - No condom. (Doesn't sound like the "back" is involved much.)

CBJ - Covered blow job, ie, oral sex with a condom. (Please do not confuse this with PBJ, as you will be very, very surprised and a little disappointed.)

Cowgirl - sex w/girl on top. (Maybe that's why all the fuss with the Quickie Burger thing.)

DFK - Deep French Kissing. (Not to be confused with BFD, which is, again, very different.)

Donation - Payment to a prostitute. (Not what you thought it was going to be, eh?)

FBSM - Full Body Sensual Massage - Not usually full service. Expect only massage (usually nude or topless) and handjob, but more services may be available. (May be available? Right. Like they have some workers who can only give topless massages and have no idea how to have sex. Sure. Thanks for pointing that out.)

FS - Full Service or Sexual Intercourse. (Oddly, there is no "SI" acronym.)

GFE - Girlfriend experience. (Sadly, there is no explanation of what this consists of. And I, for one, am curious. )

Get Comfortable - Get naked. For security reasons a prostitute may ask a client to "get comfortable" or "make yourself comfortable" before a session. (See, it's a good thing they threw in the part about "a prostitute" because I was kind of freaking out there for a minute, as that gets said to me every time I have to wait at the dentist's office. But I don't know that taking off clothes that are going to come off anyway is really much of a "security" measure to begin with.)

Greek - Anal sex. (Well, I guess I couldn't expect it to be rolling around in feta cheese and grape leaves, now, could I? Look, I'm just glad it's not. But regardless, I wasn't expecting that. And some probably aren't, which is why they have a name for it.)

Half n Half - Oral sex and straight intercourse. (There is also the half n' half massage, customer gives and receives. See, that is one of the many, many reasons I am not a hooker, because I, for one, am not paying someone else to give them a massage!)

HJ - Hand job/Hand Release. Stimulation of the penis using hand and fingers, masturbation, JO, jack-off, etc. It also means an unreliable customer. (Huh. Diverse.)

Hobbyist - A man who patronizes in-call/out-call prostitutes. (At least it doesn't involve model trains.)

In-call - When the customer goes to the prostitute.

Madam - Proprietress of an agency. (Also known as a female pimp. I guess they just use "proprietress" when they file a tax return.)

Out-call - The prostitute goes to the customers location.

PSE - Porn Star Experience. (Huh. When would this be needed? On their resume when applying for the position? Er, job. When applying for the job!)

Session - paid time spent with an escort. (Why isn't this just under FS? Complicated lingo world, this hookering stuff is. )

TER - The Erotic Review. A prostitute rating service that allow hobbyists (see above). You should know this by now!) to compare notes on services provided by prostitutes. There are others, aside from this one, that exist throughout the country. (Coming soon to a town near you!) (Yeah, pun probably intended.)

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Great White Trash Things That Go Great Together

I believe that an opening sentence that would not need much more explanation would go something like this: "An Okaloosa County Sheriff’s deputy responded to Waffle House on Racetrack Road to meet with a woman who claimed to have been battered by 10 unknown black males while she was walking through Pinecrest Mobile Home Park." See?

Seems a woman had initially claimed to have been "jumped on" by 10 black males. Then the story changed to being "beaten" by 5 black males. Then the story changed to 5 black females. (This is kind of sounding like a real life version of one of those "Choose Your Own Adventure" stories. "It was ten black males! No! No, wait! I mean, um, five! FIVE black males! Wait! Did I say five GUYS?? I want to go with women! 5 black women! Yeah! That's it!)

This clearly delusional individual continued her story by including that the 5 constantly black, recently female, assailants had struck her in the head numerous time. After they were done striking her head, they "grabbed her hair" and "beat her face into the cement." (All that striking is really hard on the knuckles. Much easier to just let some good ol' concrete do the job for you.)

Now, it may or may not surprise you that the deputy whom she told this story to did not notice any injuries on the woman's face, nor on the back or her head. Yeah, it didn't surprise me either.

I've gotta say, however, that this woman was off to a really great start if she was trying to stitch together some sort of white trash saga du jour there. I mean, she really came out of the gate running, what with the Waffle House and the Racetrack Road and the Okaloosa Sheriff and, of course, a good ol' trailer park to wrap all that up in. Can't have white trash without the trailer park, now, can you? Nope. She was all inclusive, I'll give her that.

But she really should have thought this out more. Poor woman just couldn't noodle it all the way through. Clearly, given this story, she's been hit on the head at least once in her life (and probably dropped more than once as a child). What's another crack on the noggin going to hurt? You know, just for the sake of aesthetics? At least appear as if you and the elusive Latiska Benotiqua (or any name you choose, really) had some sort of run it over there. Because you were really onto something there, yet sadly, you had only just started when things went awry.

Ah, yes, the stuff "Cops" is made of (only for reals). In the meantime, honey, why don't you just walk those 5 dollar pumps back to that trailer park and cook dinner for Cousin Dad, mmm'kay?

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Put On Your Pants And Step Away From The Birds!

This time, I've turned to Scotland for more news from below the belt. What I've learned is that a) Scotland is not that different from the rest of the UK, b) feeding pigeons before getting a hooker is really an unnecessary step, and c) many, many global occurences can be explained by just five words. You know what they are.

David Batchelor, a 58-year old Scotsman, was feeding pigeons wearing a skimpy thong which appeared skimpier due to the fact that he had it on backwards. As you can imagine, hilarity did not ensue.

Now, if you are not a stripper and you've ever had the displeasure of having to wear a thong (on purpose) you will recall that it is not all that pleasant of an experience. The whole thing is almost kind of pointless, really, provided that your thong is underneath something else. After all, the point of the thong is so that no one else will know that you're actually wearing the thong. If done correctly, while still uncomfortable, you will be the only one who knows that the thong is present (mainly because it's crawling up your ass all the time).

However, if done incorrectly, the thong wearing becomes a problem. An example of thong wearing done incorrectly would be to have the thong on backwards. An example of thong wearing gone horribly awry would be to have the thong on backwards and then not wear any pants. Not having any pants on really complicates the backwards thong matter a great deal. It's worse than the usual issues that arise out of thong usage in general (such as needing to dislodge your wedgie every 10 minutes).

See, when your thong is wrong and you happen to be a guy, well, that's really not any more effective than a string around a box from the bakery. Normally I would ask how this guy didn't know it was on backwards, given the fact that, being a guy, he sort of comes with the "hey-my-thong's-on-backwards detection kit" already installed straight from the factory. But those 5 words that explain so much will also explain that. Also, the fact that he wasn't wearing any pants makes the backwards thong almost a non-issue. But not totally.

Naturally, when your thong is on wrong and you're not wearing any pants, you get a hankerin' to feed some pigeons in the park. So that's exactly what Mr. Batchelor did. He went down to the park with a mitt full of feed and fed the pigeons. Oh, did I mention that school had just gotten out? Yeah, it did. Naturally, children fled in horror. When confronted by the police (still pantsless and with his thong doing a 180), he said that he had looked at people walking by and that the "schoolgirls were bonnie". I do not know what in the hell that means, but it doesn't sound, nor can it be, good.

Mr. Batchelor was charged with committing a breach of the peace. Yes, reading that description was certainly not peaceful for me. But when asked why he was doing what he was doing, Mr. Batchelor gave probably the most honest answer you'll hear all day when he said, "I don't know. I was just feeding the birds and if I was wanting to do that I would just go down town and get a whore." Just how do any of those things go together? WTF? (I suppose I should give him a little (not a lot) credit for trying to be efficient by not wearing any pants if he was going to get a whore. Don't want to waste any time getting those puppies off once you've found said whore. At least his time is important to him. That's something.)

His attorney had said that there wasn't a sexual element to what he was doing because (here they are) "alcohol may have been involved". No kidding. Again, I am shocked, just shocked, that a pantsless man with his thong on backwards, feeding pigeons in a public park, would be drunk. Just shocked.

And after viewing the picture of Mr. Batchelor, all I can say to that is thank GOD that there was NOT a sexual element involved in with a backwards thong wearin', pants missin', penis peekin', whore seekin', pigeon feedin', whiskey drinkin', Scotsman in the park. Halle-freakin-lulah for that.

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It's Local Even When You're Not

Just to see if this helps anything at all, how about some wacky goings on in Nova Scotia recently? You know, just in case you're in Nova Scotia after a marathon flight session in which one or more of your flights were cancelled or delayed and you ended up travelling for over 12 hours, managing only four hours of sleep before what ended up being a long, stressful and very tiring day. Maybe knowing that you're surrounded by lunatics will make something better than it was before when you didn't know it (but probably suspected). Maybe not. But you never know. Stranger things have happened. (Just look at Sweden, for God's sake.)

OK, in Antigonish (I don't know what "gonish" is, nor do I know why they are against it, but it reads a little bit like "anti-gonads" and that really isn't pleasant for anyone to think about, so let's hope "gonish" is better shall we?) 1,000 crickets were let loose in a dormitory hallway as part of a prank. Residents of the dorm and administrators were not amused. Now there are 1,000 crickets and about 2,000 little sticky things to catch the crickets on to get rid of them. (Moral of story: Stick to the ocean.)

Two guys from Algeria (yes, Algeria, for cryin' out loud) managed to smuggle themselves into Canada and spent twelve days hiding out in a double decker bus in Halifax, eating nothing but a handful of dates and drinking from a few bottles of water they had with them. No word on whether they managed any warm peanuts or cookies to go with them. They said that when they finally saw the red maple leaf, they cried because they knew they were in Canada and in Canada they respect human rights. Then they got thrown in jail.

Some guy stole a bunch of money from his companion (he was 58, she was 73.) and used it to buy about 50 wireless radios, which he took great delight in setting up all around himself and, with his favorite one next to him in the middle, sat around and listened to them all the live long day. Until the checks that he forged his companions name on came to light and then he was arrested. (Imagine being in the middle seat next to that guy.)

You're surrounded by innovative sorts over there. A disabled crack addict was discovered to have hidden a bunch of crack cocaine in her prosthetic leg. It probably wouldn't have been found except that the 43-year old disabled woman bit a policeman and her false teeth fell out along with another package of cocaine that she was trying to swallow. I guess when they searched her, they found the rest in the leg. (Not sure if it was wooden. No mention of The Alamo, either.)

And finally, you'll be less than happy to learn that they go below the belt in Nova Scotia, too! A driving instructor who put a foot-long carrot down his pants while giving a driving lesson has been jailed for 18 months. Need I say more? Of course I do. The guy put the 12 in carrot in his pants and then told his student (a woman in her 40s) that the way she perfectly performed a driving manuever was so good it had given him a big ol' woody. He then took her hand and made her touch the vegetable in his pants, before unzipping to show her it was a carrot and not his penis, As you may imagine, that did not provide much relief at that point.

Penis; it's not just for Sweden any more.

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Swedish Needlepoint In English

Haven't had your fill of Sweden's News? In English? This might take care of that empty void you've been feeling. From the good folks over at The Local (Sweden's News how? In English, that is correct.) we have this opening paragraph that pretty much ensures that you're going to read the next paragraph (at the very least) as soon as you get done scratching your head and wondering, "WTF?" Here we go: "Two men from western Sweden have been sentenced to eight years each in jail after they forced a man at needlepoint to sign over ownership of a car, a motorbike and a ride-on lawnmower. " Done scratching yet? Then please, read on....

According to the court who sentenced the 2 men, the crimes included "elements of humiliation and, to a certain extent, sadism." And for those of us not in Sweden, the crimes also included elements of confusion and a new found gratefulness for the country that we do live in.

The victim was ambushed on his farm in December of last year. The ambushers beat him with a baseball bat before tossing him into his own basement where he was nailed to his own work bench and threatened with a pistol and a gas flame. (A gas flame? Like a Bic lighter? Why would you need anything other than a gun? A gun will pretty much cover it when you're robbing a Swedish farmer on his own farm. Bringing fire into it at that point really seems like overkill to me.) Now, if the ambushers were from the Philippines and it was closer to one of the more nail-y holidays that they so adore over there, this might be understandable. But I'm guessing that they weren't. So, what is wrong with Swedish ambushers, who may or may not speak English?! What? You people don't have rope over there? Just a hammer and nails were all your criminal ancestors and felonious forefathers left you with?! Rope!! Tie up your ambushed victim (now hostage) with ROPE!! Do not, I repeat, DO NOT nail them to a work bench or any other kind of bench. Park, bus, I don't care. NO NAILING!!

The newly crucified Swedish farmer was later "forced at needlepoint to sign his name to a document handing over ownership of his car, motorbike and lawnmower to his assailants." Again, WTF?! Needlepoint? Like one of those pillows on your grandmother's couch that say "Home Sweet Home" or "Gone Fishin'"? THAT kind of needlepoint? With or without that pillow attached?? I don't get it. And lawnmower? You've got a guy, nailed to a workbench, and you're waving a hand stitching device in front of him to force him to sign over his possessions and all you want is his car, his motorcycle and his mower?! I'm thinking he might have done all of that without the nailing. Regardless, couldn't y'all have made it worth your while? Made it at least worth HIS while? I mean, he's not going anywhere. He's nailed down, for cryin' out loud! Clean the guy out while you have a chance! Swedish idiots in Enlgish.

But just to clarify things a bit, it wasn't a sewing needle. No, it was a hypodermic needle and they injected him with heroin as a little thank you for signing over his three possessions deemed worthy of such a horrifying ordeal. Well, an overdose of heroin. So they weren't really thanking him as much as they were trying to kill him. Nice guys.

Naturally, the defense of these guys was that their Swedish victim "might have cooked up his story because he regretted a voluntary sale." Uh-huh. And monkeys might fly out of your butt. Do you really think that someone is going to go through all of that because they were having second thoughts about selling their motorized vehicles and lawn care machinery?! I don't! You know, I've regretted more than just a few things over the course of my life. Never have I regretted something so much to the point that I was thinking about nailing myself to a workbench and OD-ing on heroin to get it back.

But back to an earlier statement made by the judge in this case when he said, "...to a certain extent, sadism" was involved. To a "certain extent"? But not past that extent? WTF? The guy was beaten, threatened with a gun and a Bic lighter, nailed to a workbench and then shot full of heroin after being forced to sign over the family lawnmower. That would cover the full extent of sadism. Not a certain extent. The full extent. I'm certain of it.

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It's Like Easter on Steroids

I know I was mocking the whole "world record" concept thing a little while ago. But that was only because they were allowing things to be "world records" that really weren't very "world record"-y (Like the 1,100+ morons all dressed up like Robin Hood.). But here's something that has renewed my hope in the World Record arena. An entry of gigantic proportions which, frankly, scares the bejeezus out of me. Behold! Amy, the world's biggest rabbit.

OK, I took one look at that creature and thought, "That is a BFR (Big Fat Rabbit) if I have ever seen one." Look at the size of that thing! It's like a horse! Or a St. Bernard. You could put a little keg of brandy around it's neck and have it save unfortunate travelers stranded in the snowy Yukon, for cryin' out loud. The rabbit is over 3 1/2 feet long and weighs over 50 lbs. That's like a child! In a coat! All the time! It's not normal!

Amy the rabbit, a Continental Giant (I should say so! Oh, wait. That's the breed. Never mind.) has been raised by Annette Edwards. Ms. Edwards was on a quest to raise the world's biggest rabbit. I do not know why. Oh, wait, now I know. She wanted to breed Amy to be bigger than the previous World Biggest Rabbit, Roberto, who she ALSO raised. Hmmm. I see a trend.

And it's a pretty good bet that Ms. Edwards will get to raise the world's NEXT BFR, as Roberto and Amy have been going at it for quite some time now "in their reinforced hutch". Well, they don't go at it "all the time" in the reinforced hutch. That's because Amy is now so big she has to sleep outside. In a dog kennel. (Yep, that Roberto has a pretty sweet deal going on. A little BFR lovin' and then she's out the door!)

And while all of this doesn't really appear to be totally ab-normal (So the woman likes BFRs? Do you want her selling crack to schoolchildren instead? Do you? All right then. BFRs it is.), it does have one "WTF" component that's worth mentioning. The BFRB (Big Fat Rabbit Breeder) invited over 100 people to a wedding ceremony for Roberto and Amy approximately 2 years ago. The only thing I find stranger than that is the fact that the over 100 people actually showed up to a wedding for a couple of BFRs! Do they have nothing better to do over there in Holland?! I guess not. But she claims that everything is great because the BFRs don't have any jealousy issues. I don't know why they would. After all, they're rabbits.

I don't know that rabbits capable of feeling jealousy. And even if they were, I don't know that they would know what to do about it. I mean, if you were a rabbit and you felt jealous, would you know the protocol that has been, historically, laid out by humans for humans? Do you think you'd know to start stalking the other rabbit? Calling it's hutch and hanging up? Driving by it's hutch several times a day? Always wondering if the other rabbit was cheating on you? Constantly thinking that your little bunny offspring might not be yours? Contemplate going on Springer, etc? I doubt you would. And neither would the non-jealous BFRs.

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Mugshot Goodness - Just Because

Just because.....Here's a little bit of mugshot goodness to help the week go right. They really don't need any captions as they speak (eg, shout) volumes on their own.

I'm sure that the dudes below will be taking their money that they earn from either renting or selling whatever it is that they think that can rent or sell, right on over to Floyd and Justin's tattoo guy for their own set of tattooed foreheadedness.

The woman below has lost several things and is in need of your help. She seeks "Aspirin, Details From Last Night, My Pants". Um, if you find those aspirin, I'm going to need a few after reading that.

Now, the "goon" below may have been incessantly mocked before a few days ago. But now? I'm just glad it's not on his forehead. The neck isn't much of an improvement, but it IS an improvement considering it's not on his forehead. This gentleman has potential. (I can sense these things.) I think that the confusion on his face is from looking down at said tattoo. "NOOG? What the hell is NOOG?"

The mugshot version of "There's Something About Mary".

Where do you think she gets the pen or whatever is used for those eyebrows?

I KNOW! I'm thinking she borrows the pens from this guy. OK, I don't know what the story is behind this mugshot, but if it's half as funny as this picture is, it will be hilarious.

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Sorry Philippines

I think I owe the Philippines and all of it's Nail-y Easter celebrating residents somewhat of an apology for some of my Crucifixion Mockery that I bestowed upon them. Oh, please don't mistake that for a full apology. Nailing yourself to a cross on purpose as a means of celebrating something that a lot of us prefer to do with hard boiled eggs? Yeah, I still think it's weird. And wrong. But there are things out there that might be more weird. Or more wrong. (I use the term "might" very loosely.


Let's take a gander at San Francisco, shall we? (I didn't say "Let's look directly at it" for cryin' out loud! Are you trying to blind yourself?! Avert your gaze occasionally for your own safety. And sanity.) In Dolores Park, there is an annual Easter Sunday tradition (yes, that means this has happened more than once) that is known as the "Hunky Jesus" competition.

Before I get into the full description of the "Hunky Jesus" competition, I have to address the name of this freak show. See, to me, when you're doing something that is not that familiar to most people (thank God), you don't want to name it something that could sound like a whole bunch of other things. "Hunky Jesus", "Monkey Pieces", "Punky Nieces", "Funky Thesis", all extremely similar and likely to bring even more confusion into this circus tent.

Apparently there is a gay charity group called "The Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence" (catchy) and they officiate the competition which pits costumed and (not surprisingly) scantily clad men against each other (not literally. We're not in the Philippines this time!) as they vie for the distinction of being declared the "most attractive Jesus".

I'm sure it won't surprise you that Catholics (probably everywhere) have declared the "Hunky Jesus" competition to be blasphemous. They base that characterization mostly on the fact that entrants in previous years (as well as this one) have included "Old School Jesus" (How much more "old school" can Jesus get?), "Surfer Jesus" (I'm picturing Keanu Reeves with a crown of thorns and both feet nailed to his surfboard) and "Zombie Jesus". (That's sort of a irreverent/ironic take on the whole "Christ rising from the dead" theme that seems to be present at most Easter celebrations.) There was even a Sanjaya Jesus. (OK, now, that is blasphemy.)

Of course, those judging and participating in Hunky Jesus Sunday don't see it that way. No, Perpetually Indulgent Sisters say that they are simply promoting universal joy and trying to expiate stigmatic guilt. (I'm having a hard time believing that these dudes dressed up like Surf Dude Jesus or Little House On The Prairie Jesus are concerned about expiating this stigmatic guilt.)

By the way, I present to you, the winner of The Hunky Jesus H. Christ Festival 2008
I think that all I have to say about all of this is, "Jesus Christ."

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The Road To Hell Is Paved With Intentions Like These

This from the fine folks over there at the Sydney Morning Herald in Australia: In Bangkok (That's Thailand), the government is offering college students an opportunity to earn credits toward their final degree by taking lessons in seduction as an elective. I swear.

I guess the birth rate has slowed down quite a bit over yonder in Bangkok. (Hey, that song only said "One night in Bangkok." It didn't say that you had to do more than just the one!) According to the Herald, if the students choose the "love elective", the cirriculum includes "watching mushy films, holding hands and "love song analysis". What could possibly go wrong?

Isabel Seet, an 18-year old engineering student said, "My teacher said if a guy looks into my eyes for more than five seconds, it could mean he is attracted to me. It's very interesting, and if I have a boyfriend in future, I'll know how to cope with any problems we may have." Where to begin? I don't know that if a guy looks at you for more than 5 seconds that you should automatically assume he is attracted to you. You might want to stop and consider "for what purpose" might he be attracted to you? For general courtship and wooing? Or for general sadistic dismemberment? You're not going to "know how to cope" with the latter one, I don't care how many classes you take.

But they're pretty intent on getting the whole "love and sexuality" message out there. A government minister, Yu-Foo Yee Shoon (Now, if that name right there doesn't get you all warm and fuzzy and looking at someone for more than 5 seconds, well, I don't know what will.), has warned young people to not put their career before starting a family. He said, "If you wait until then, sometimes it'll be a little too late." If they wait until WHEN? Retirement? Yes, I'd say that retirement age IS at least a little too late to be starting a family. But that doesn't you should put your career on hold in order to help repopulate Thailand if you'd rather put that MBA to use for a while.

The "trainers" that teach this course have been provided by the Social Development Unit of Bangkok (now known, by me, as SDUB). SDUB is sort of like a government match-making agency. Um, what? Look, there is no way in hell that I would ever, in my life, let the government set me up. I don't care how long they've been doing it. I don't care how long I haven't been doing it. (I mean, I do care if I haven't been doing it. But not enough to ask the government, as an all encompassing entity, to help me out.) They're the government! I don't want the government doing most of the things that they ARE doing! (If it turns out anything like how things got taken care of after Hurricane Katrina, they're going to want that career to fall back on whilst they wait for their mating-partner-to-be to arrive.)
The claim to fame of SDUB is that they have married off 33,000 people since 1984. That's about 1375 people (687-ish marriages) a year for 24 years. There are approximately 8,000,000 people in Bangkok. That amounts to about 1/10000 of a percent of the population that the overly proud SDUB can credit to their matchmaking prowess. I'm thinking they need a new plan. This one is barely working. But even if it's barely working, I'm starting to think that it might not be going in the direction that they had intended. Here's why:

Kamal Prakash, a student who is taking the course, has said that it has improved his relationship. With his parents. That's right. He said, "it has improved my relationship with my parents, but I am still single." Um, maybe that's because you're focusing all of your SDUB knowledge ON your parents! If I found out that a course in "love and sexuality" would improve my relationship with my parents, I sure as hell wouldn't be signing up for it! No, I would be doing the opposite of signing up for it if that was a possible outcome! And in this case, the "opposite" of signing up for a class about "love and sexuality" that has the potential to improve my relationship with my parents would be shooting myself. Immediately.

Is Bangkok in the South?

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2-for-1 Genetic Goodness Follow up

You remember the Bebees, don't you? That father and son combo who had waded out of the shallow end of the gene pool just long enough to get arrested? Not ringing a bell for you? The father AND his son both had TATTOOS? On their FOREHEADS?! Ah, there it is! I knew you'd remember. Well, there's a bit more to add to that story of home spun family goodness.

Apparently, the fine folks over there at thesmokinggun.com (see the link at the right) interviewed Floyd Bebee and asked him about his "Git-R-Dun" tattoo. (And the tattoo is where? On his forehead. That is correct.) Seems that talented piece of artwork took 45 minutes, which is a lot more time than I would have thought. It also turns out that "Git-R-Dun" on your forehead costs about $125, which is also a lot more than I would have thought. (I don't know how much I thought it would have been. I assumed he just traded a few pigs and couple of chickens for it, I guess.) But wait! There's more! Literally.

Ol' Floyd there also has "Got-R-Did" tattooed on the back of his head. I have no comment as I think that speaks for itself. But that doesn't mean that the fun stops here! Oh, no! We still have to update the Justin situation.

While Justin Bebee, kindred offspring of Proud Papa Floyd, has that lovely "Psycho" tattooed on his forehead (Sadly, like father, like son.) in a shaky font (assumedly so that it will appear that he is really psycho? Um, I don't think that the special font was necessary, but whatever. It's different.), he also has a heart tattooed below his eye! How I missed that the first time, I have no idea. Yes, a heart. How special. It's very Care Bear or Strawberry Shortcake if you ask me. But the best one is the one we can't see. Justin, a boy of many, many words (at least 3), has the words "F**K" and "YOU" tattooed on his eyelids.

What, in the name of anything with a normal tattoo, would you want to have F-U tattooed on your body AT ALL, let alone your freaking eyelids?! Who is that for? His dearly beloved? So that when he's sleeping and she looks over at him, he sends a very clear message to her? What is wrong with people? All I can hope is that Floyd and Justin ran out of chickens and pigs when they were getting their tattoos and they didn't have any left to post bail with. Oh, and my curiosity about the mother of Justin/special someone of Floyd, has waned considerably after learning this. I just want it to all go away. And I want it to take it's damn chicken and pig bartering, tattooed messes of DNA the hell out of here as well.

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