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Ray Bradbury started something baaaad

January 28th, 2010 · No Comments

I hate doctor’s offices. I hate the lady at the front desk behind the glass. (She probably wouldn’t need to be behind glass if she were a little nicer…hint, hint). 

I hate the lady that weighs you and then takes your blood pressure. I hate the assistant that scurries around the room with their head down, handing things hermetically sealed in plastic to that hateful doctor.  I hate needles. I really hate needles. That is probably why I just do not understand tattoos…. 

Why? Why on earth would anyone purposefully, repeatedly stab themselves with a razor sharp instrument leaving a permanent psychotic chicken on their arm? Or Pooh Bear or a jellyfish…whatever…wherever.  

I am willing to bet cold hard cash that every Chinese character permanently imbedded in those idiot celebrity’s flesh totally declares that person not to be a tranquil grasshopper but as a MONKEY FUCKER! Tire treads across your back? Seriously? Were you a crash test dummy in another life? Let’s not forget the damn clowns. Has anyone ever asked to send in the clowns? No, because no one really likes clowns. They are creepy! 

Finally, there are the words…the endless drivel of words…song lyrics, poems, or just plain blather… There is an actress who has random words tattooed all over her arms. From a distance it looks like she is crawling with leaches! I am not kidding. Why did she think that was attractive? I don’t get it. I just don’t get it.

Ray Bradbury wrote The Illustrated Man and they forced us to read it in school. Young, impressionable middle schoolers…this is where it all begins. Perhaps censorship really isn’t a bad word? Just don’t tattoo it to your forehead, please.

Tags: Rants & Raves

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