Skin Deep 259

Skin Deep 259 5 January 2016 259

I feel under pressure to write something about how it’s 2016 and we should be looking forward to a new year of getting more ink but I’ll give it a miss thanks. I know without even looking that you’ll read it elsewhere from those who think you may not have bothered looking at a calendar in the last few months.

Once upon a time, I used to wonder if I was making a contribution to pop-culture or whether I was the end result of consuming so much of it. I still don’t know the answer but I’ll take a guess at it being the latter of the two because you can’t stare into the abyss without getting smoke in your eye (or something like that).
I’m fine with this because it would mean I’m not partly responsible for the phone call I got from a guy who wanted to be on the cover of the mag. This in itself, is not unusual but when I pointed out that wasn’t a road we liked to drive down because on the few occasions we have, sales go down noticeably (true fact, we never made these rules) he asked if he could send his pics in anyway.

What the hell. Sure you can, buddy. There’s plenty of guys out there with pecs still where they should be and great ink—just make sure you have a neat story to back it up. It helps if we’re going to do anything of substance.

It was a weird phone call and after being polite for half an hour, it turns out the guy didn’t have any ink—not even a Shoulder Taz from 1992 and the photos he had of himself were of the naked variety. Interesting.

So to recap, either A: some guy really did want to send me some naked pics of his non-tattooed body, God knows why (and He invented the ‘internet’ especially for that sort of thing) or B: somebody thought it would be funny—which it is.

I hope it was B because A can only be the result of too much LSD on an empty stomach.

I’m not complaining—hell no. This is the best damn gig in the world. All I’m pointing out is that when you are directing traffic, you don’t get a choice in what vehicles come down the street. All you can do is point them a certain way and hope they don’t hit another car because they were too busy SnapChatting their genitals to drive in a straight line.

The world is becoming a strange unhinged place—and when I say it’s unhinged, this ain’t your old man talking. I once shared breakfast in a snowbound coffee shop in Austria with a homeless guy and his pet monkey—I had run out of so much luck back then, he was paying and gave me his hat.

I know unhinged when I see it.


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