A Freakish Reception

It had been two weeks since I moved to Boston, and I was ready for something, anything really. I didn’t expect my first big adventure to be a tattoo convention, but when I heard about it, I simply couldn’t resist. I had heard that the doors would open around 10:00 a.m., and I knew it was somewhere on Tremont st., that was it. Yet, being the the mastermind planner that I am, I decided we would leave at 9:00, and beat the rush later on that day. We got off the redline at Park st., and quickly oriented ourselves in the direction that we would need to travel. Guess I should probably clarify this "we", well it is me and none other than Ryan Lesko, the nephew of the great 90's Infomerical guy who wore the riddler suit and had some crazy rant about free money from the Government. They are basically one in the same. (Lesko appears on this blog elsewhere.) If I knew then and there that I was about to walk 4 miles to wait six hours so a man could stab me in the arm with a tiny needle about ten thousand times, I might have reconsidered.
We arrived at the Boston Center of the Arts, and I had a quick look at the schedule.
Friday 10-12, Saturday 12-1, and Sunday 10-10.
"Today is Saturday, right?" I asked
"Yeah man" replied Lesko
"Fuucckk"
We decided to walk on in anyways and take a peek around before the big show. There were about 200 hundred of these little booths scattered around, and two hours later they would be crammed with tattoo artists and eager folks who are looking for their next weird piece of body art. As well as a general assortment of looneys, transvestites, and genuine decent people.
Everyone who has ever gotten a tattoo will tell you that it is addictive. "Cocaine for your skin" they would say. Actually I made that up, I don't think I ever heard anyone say that one, but it sounds about right.
Having realized that the convention would not open its doors to the public for another two hours, my first instinct was to drink heavily until the doors were opened, then approach a vendor representing Art for Life(descending from the great state of Vermont), and demand some outrageous deal on the basis that we were brothers from the same earth(Vermont). When I learned that you can not get drunk before you get a tattoo it was like a kick to the nuts, with iron boots. I was truly demoralized. Instead, we sat outside the Center of the Arts, smoking cigarettes for two hours, waiting for the time to come.
At first there was only a handful of people; some huge biker types covered with tattoos from head to toe, some elderly women(they might have been lost), and a couple random freaks. By 12:05 the crowd had mushroomed into a line of about 200 hundred deviants from all walks of life. Groups of men in Kilts, overweight Gothic chicks, Dead Head hippies, the entire Boston chapter of the Hells Angels, skinheads, even the carnies, and then there was me, a strangely normal looking guy who felt rather out of his element at the time. The doors opened and a wave of people poured into the venue, it was like these people were running for the last boat on the Titanic, it was terrifying. For the first hour I just walked around trying to find someone who had a worthy tattoo for my “guns”, nobody, not even my Vermont brethren, were up to the challenge of tattooing the Gonzo fist on to my left arm.
I was beginning to feel disappointed. So I retired to the bar to maybe get the creative juices flowing. It was either Bass from the keg, or tin bottles of Bud, I went with the Bud. Luckily the bar area was scattered with bean bags, tables, and even an X-Box 360 with Guitar Hero II. “My God”, I said. “These people don’t know what they’ve done.” Within moments I was serenading people with my moving rendition of Heart Shaped Box, it was magical. After the song was over I was struck by a brilliant idea. One of those people doing tattoos out there is bound to have a computer. All I needed to do was have them google search “Gonzo fist”. It worked, I am a genius. The winning Vendor was Trinity Tattoo out of Florida. The main man was busy working on another tattoo, but he said to come back in 3 hours. Three Goddamn hours of anxious waiting and they expected me not to get drunk? The Magic Hat summer variety show was there, the mini fucking circus and they expected me not to get drunk? “Sweet Jesus, let me drink like my ancestors, now more than ever.” The Circus was starting, so I watched the first act. It was some dude dressed as a cowboy twirling a lasso around and jumping through and whatnot. Meanwhile a woman approached me wearing; a pair of black hooker boots, a pink poofy skirt, a red/white/blue corset. I turned to her and asked “So uhh, you and err, the rest of the circus work for Magic Hat?…that it?”

She glared at me, “We work WITH Magic Hat”

That was the end of that conversation. Seconds later she was climbing the stairs on the side of the stage, but her poofy skirt caught a nail on the roulette wheel, and in one motion she tore the side of her skirt, and pulled the roulette wheel off its table and onto the ground, I was laughing wildly and decided I should let her do her thing in peace and returned to the bar. By now I had thrown the Idea of me not getting drunk completely out the door. If I wanted to be raving drunk in 3 hours when I get my tattoo, then I would be, and tough titty for anyone who thinks its a bad idea. 5 beers later and I was growing skeptical of my situation, If my blood was too thin, then I would bleed like a stuck pig when they start poking away at my arm. I washed down the Budweiser with a Bass Ale, yummy. I went outside for a ciggarette and to my delight, there was a sandwich shop across the street. I went in and ordered some anti-drunkness food. I had prevailed again.
Once more, I returned to the bar, ordered more over-priced beers, and played more guitar hero. With half an hour left before my turn in the hotseat, I went to go watch the artist at work. He was finishing up the tattoo on the same guy from before. It looked nice, I was slightly relieved. At this point the Circus kicked off it’s knife swallowing exhibition. This eased the tension even more, because I knew the man putting the swords down his throat was far more crazy than I. At last the moment had come and I was ready for my tattoo. When they learned that this was my first tattoo it was like a light went off above the booth that read VIRGIN SKIN, COME SEE THE DRUNK NEWBIE BLEED. For some reason I had drawn a crowd, maybe they were impressed with my choice of tattoos, could these people be Gonzos too?
There must have been 15 or 20 people crowded around me when the needle hit my skin, I showed no reaction, which must have disappointed some people because they wandered off. There was 1 hottie who stayed that caught my eye. She was a little Asian girl I had seen earlier getting a menagerie of rings on her back, two columns, about 6 inches apart, with 5 rings in each column, and a yellow ribbon tying it all together. The pain was hard to describe, but I’ll try. It was like having someone drag a little knife across your skin a couple hundred times, nothing bad. The tattoo was done in about an hour, even though I bled like a stuck pig. The bill was $100, and I gave him a 20 for a tip. He put a folded paper towel on my arm and taped it twice for good measure. I dashed to the bar and ordered two beers. I pounded the first and then the second.
"You ought to slow down there buddy" said the Bartender.
"I waste no time, only bitches" I said.
"What?" he asked.
"Nothing, give me another beer, mas cerveza, ahora".
Stretching out I realized I was in for a long healing period. My arm was burning and I had no “medicine” to help me cope. The alcohol would have to do. It did...a few hours later I was drunk-as-a-skunk. I ended up getting ripped off by some wretched foreigner cabby who didn’t understand English, but that is a whole ‘nother story altogether.

The Folly of Scott Mclellan

Sic Semper Tyrannis

John Wilkes Booth said that after capping Lincoln in the back of the head at Fords Theatre. Now rumors are floating around Washington that Scott McClellan, former press secretary of the Bush administration, has tattooed it across his chest, and is planning to unveil his new body art at the Congressional hearing that he is the focus of.

"He(Booth) may have been a traitor, but the words still ring true today like they rang true in his(Booths) heyday." Said a noticeably flustered McClellan. "During my time in in the Bush white house, I saw, and participated in so many scandalous acts of indecency that I was actually visited by Satan himself one night, asking if I would be his new press secretary." Apparently the King of Darkness had fucked Reagan in the ass too hard one night, rendering The Dutch incapable of speech. "When I realized that the first of the fallen was coming to me to be his PR man, I knew I was doing something deeply immoral, and decided to readjust my values. Soon after I tendered my resignation, though not before Cheney had a chance to give me one last snarl. 'If you tell one fucking soul about what we did behind closed doors, I will eat your face', For a while I believed him," said a now crying McClellan. "but the prospect of being fucked in the ass to death by the great deceiver himself was too terrifying, and I promised myself that one day the truth would come out, and that, has set me free."

McClellen is set to testify before congress about the Bush administration's deceit of the American Public leading up the the war, insisting that "they knew all along that the were no WMD's, or intent to reconstitute a nuclear program, or even the link between Al Queda and Iraq."

When Joseph Wilson went to Niger to see if any allegations made by the administration held water, he was surprised to learn that Niger has neither the production capability to produce enriched Uranium, nor the intent to help Saddam Hussein in any way. He reported his findings in a Washington Post article that sent trembles through the Bush administration.

"He must be stopped, we have to hit 'em back, and hit 'em hard" Cheney was reported as saying.

Later that week an article appeared in which Valerie Plame, Wilson's wife, had her cover compromised as an undercover agent, a treasonous offense that in revolutionary times was punishable by hanging. The trail led to one Lewis "Scooter" Libby, though he denied all charges, he was found guilty by a Grand Jury, and sentenced to 2 and 1/2 years, a rather small punishment for the crime. Later findings would determine that the order to reveal Plames identity came from the second in command, one Dick Cheney.

George W. Bush would later commute Libby's sentence, saying "ol' Scooter was just following orders, you know how it is, personal loyalty is bigger than having a conscience around here."

McClellan now believes that the Vice President is actually trying to kill him, saying that "I've seen him lurking around my house at night wearing camouflage and carrying a double-barrel shotgun. I tried to file a restraining order, but the police laughed at me and hang up every time I call." Startling indeed.

Proponents of McClellan point to video footage of Bush, Cheney, Rice, and Rumsfield all telling the same story; Iraq has WMD's, they are building Nukes, and they are in league with Al Queda. After these three allegations were found to be false, the aforementioned denied having made these statements at all.

Proponents also cite Bush's speech during the 2004 white house correspondents dinner in which he jokingly looks around the podium, only to conclude that "these weapons of mass destruction have to got be around here somewhere." Let me remind you that over 4,100 Americans Soldiers have died in Iraq.

If there is a hell, George Bush, Dick Cheney, and Don Rumsfield will be the main attraction for a long time.

The Season for Apathy

Politics is a dirty business, and anybody who tells you anything else is selling something. That being said, there is a certain amount of b.s. that we are inclined to take every two years and maybe it’s just me but this year seems to be…atrocious. I like answering phone calls from campaign offices because I enjoy talking politics, and what better sport than someone who has been repeating the same one-liners to total strangers that couldn’t care less for god knows how long? She sounded like she was in her 70’s, pleasant enough, her demeanor was not argumentative; she just asked me questions. Then she told me that I was very knowledgeable about politics, and because of that I might be interested in a new grassroots political movement called the tea party.

“Stop right there.” I told her

“Excuse me?” she replied curiously

“Excuse YOU. The tea party is funded by oil money and either you didn’t know that and are spreading ignorance or you did know this and are spreading lies.” As I said it I suddenly wondered how many people she’d already spoken to.

“That’s not true.” She told me somewhat defiantly.

“Truer than the Bible itself. Who do you think pays Sarah Palins six figure speaking fee when she shows up at tea party rallies. Who pays for Glenn Beck? You’re kidding yourself lady. Jeff Perry used a fake degree to get where he is and now he is using you.”

I didn’t know that otherwise sweet old ladies can slam phones like that.

Jeff Perry recently told the Boston Globe; “I went to night school for 15 or 20 years. I’m really proud of that. It hurts a little bit that people . . . try to diminish my educational accomplishments.”

Oh Jeff if you could see the irony of lying about a degree then being raked over the coals in a collegiate newspaper for it; well that would make my day.

Polls show republicans are more enthusiastic about getting out to vote this season by a margin of roughly 2:1. If republicans take control of the house and senate you can bet things will get very bad very quickly, and it will not be because of an astro-turf sham like the tea party, it will be from democratic weakness and general apathy.

When the Financial Reform bill was brought to Congress it was intended to do many things, the nuts and bolts of the bill though, were regulation of the derivative market and proprietary trading. It essentially was supposed to make it so that secondhand stocks (derivatives) whose value is beholden to another stock cannot be manipulated by banking institutions. The proprietary trading regulation was supposed to make it so federally insured banks couldn’t engage in high risk trading at the expense of the taxpayers. Together these new regulatory instruments would ensure a level of stability that would allow the stock market to function as it was pre-meltdown. The final bill signed by the President contained nothing of the sort. The Democratically controlled Congress led by the democratically controlled White House flaked in the worst way they possibly could.

As it were, the worse that can happen when democrats in control flake is a lack of meaningful reform. The alternative, republican flaking, is unnecessary wars on the other side of the planet under knowingly false pretenses, more government institutions that protect us by infiltrating book of the month clubs, corporate de-regulation one a wider scale than ever seen in the history of man, a rise in religious fundamentalism, accompanied by the persecution of minorities of all stripes, and a national debt that makes our current 11 trillion look like chump change.