Tattoo Or Not To Tattoo?

Is it just me, or does he look familiar to you too?  (Image from 6 abc dot com)
Math class is sooo boring!  Is that bell ever gonna ring? (Image from 6 abc dot com)

I saw this guy’s mug shot in the news a few months back.  He looked familiar to me.  I couldn’t imagine that I could have met a guy with all those tatts and not recalled him.  I figured that perhaps I knew him long ago, and tried to picture him sans artwork.  Even then, I couldn’t place him.  I gave up on trying to figure it out and resumed my humdrum life of working for a living and writing blog posts for the amusement of my seventeen loyal followers.

A few days ago, my wife and I were trying to clean some junk out of the basement.  After fifteen minutes though, we were hopelessly frozen in our pursuits, as we had each become stuck looking at crap artifacts from our past.  Throwing stuff away is tough when there’s even a glimmer of emotional attachment.  I pulled out a spiral bound notebook of one of my grown children from what might have been 5th or 6th grade.  I didn’t bother flipping it open to see the scribbled notes, but stared instead at the mural of doodles on the cover.

In a flash, it hit me.  The tattooed mugshot was not of anyone I knew, but his artwork bore a striking similarity to the notebook covers of middle-schoolers everywhere.  Old timers like me may also find a certain resemblance to the walls adjacent to payphones in college dorms of the late 70’s and early 80’s.

As I just admitted, I’m no spring chicken.  Back in the halcyon days of my youth, tattoos were for guys in the Navy and Hell’s Angels.  I suppose prison inmates had them too, but I lead a sheltered life back then, which limited my exposure to only the tattoos of sailors and bikers.

Obviously times have changed.  The future has arrived, and it’s not entirely pretty.  We have wristwatch phones and cars that park themselves.  We also have morbidly obese exhibitionists twerking on YouTube and scores of people who flaunt their God-given right to cover themselves with as many tattoos as they desire.

That's either Darth Vader or a very poor representation of a black pug in a rose bush.  (Image from geekology dot com)
That’s either Darth Vader or a very poor representation of a black pug in a rose bush.  By the way fella, you’re rockin’ that beard.  (Image from geekology dot com)

Back in my college days, I had an acquaintance who was going to get a tattoo of a lightning bolt on his hip. At the time, he was a freshman who played attack on the lacrosse team, and the image had a degree of legitimacy.  Of course, now he’s likely a pudgy investment banker in his mid-fifties, and the bolt may be over-shadowed by a nearby hip replacement scar.  Before going for the ink, he tried to get many of his teammates to join him.  I recalled considering it for a few seconds.  At that time in my life, I was lucky to be able to scrape together enough loose change for a six pack, so paying for a tattoo was out of the question.  Still, I considered what image I’d choose.  I politely declined, but the thought of the Zig Zag Man on my arm did stick in my head.

That's not a zit; Zig Zag Man's spleef is all sparked up.  (Image from hellnbak at deviantart dot com)
That’s not a zit; Zig Zag Man’s spliff is all sparked up. (Image from hellnbak at deviantart dot com)

A few years later, I put my fine arts degree to use tending bar.  One of my fellow mixologists was a Jewish kid from Cherry Hill, NJ.  I was under the impression that tattoos were against his religion, but he was crazy about inking himself up.  He had a bunch of body art and was constantly looking ahead to the next one.  Like the lacrosse player, he was always trying to convince people to join him.  Newly married to a woman who abhorred tattoos, I didn’t consider it for more than a fraction of a second.  I did think about what image I’d pick though, and briefly recalled the one I’d considered in college.  I shuddered at how horrible my former choice was, and said a silent prayer of thanks that I had avoided going through with it.

So I was in a tough place emotionally, you know?  I was frustrated with my inability to move up the corporate ladder and finally get out of the mailroom.  I just said, you know, what the hell, I'll get a picture of a big penis tattooed on the side of my face, and then, you know, to give it that special zing, I'll pierce my cheek.  So then Monday I show up to work and the supervisor tells me I don't have a job anymore.  I've put some resumes out, but I can't seem to get past the first interview.  I wonder if I need some breath mints of something.  (Image from moosiemoose dot tumblr dot com)
So I was in a tough place emotionally, you know? I was frustrated with my inability to move up the corporate ladder and finally get out of the mailroom. I just said, you know, what the hell, I’ll spend my rent money on getting a picture of a big penis tattooed on the side of my face.  Then, to give it that special zing, I’ll pierce my cheek. So Monday I show up to work and the supervisor tells me I don’t have a job anymore. I’ve put some resumes out, but I can’t seem to get past the first interview. I wonder if I need some breath mints of something. (Image from moosiemoose dot tumblr dot com)

The cycle has repeated itself every so often throughout my life, where I think of what tattoo I would get and where I would put it, but each time, I recall the images I’d considered the previous times and realize how awful and obsolete they’d look on my body in the present day.

I have tons of friends and colleagues now who have tattoos.  For the most part, their choices of tattoos strike me as somehow appropriate for each of them .  I don’t shake my head and wonder what they were thinking when they chose what they chose.  In my defense, I don’t have any friends with tattoos of Mickey Mouse, Captain Kirk or bedazzled shlongs on their faces.

Like most people, I tend to be far more critical of my own decisions than those of others.  Lord knows I’ve done my share of things which I realized were mistakes.  The prospect of living with my bad decisions is a fact of life, I don’t need illustrations.

Shia, We Hardly Knew Ye

It’s all over the interweb, Shia LeBeouf is quitting public life!  If you’re like me, there are two questions which immediately spring to mind: 1) Who the hell is Shia LeBeouf? and 2) Why should someone like myself give a rat’s ass that I may never find out who the hell he is?

This is what he looks like.  Still, not even a flicker of recognition in my brain, maybe he looks different when he's fighting robots.  (Image from Wikipedia dot org)
This is what he looks like. Still, not even a flicker of recognition in my brain, maybe he looks different when he’s surrounded by robots. (Image from Wikipedia dot org)

A quick Google search has revealed that Shia (we’re on a first name basis now) is an actor.  For your edification, Shia is pronounced SHY-uh, and essentially rhymes with Hi-ya.  It’s odd that I discovered this just in time to say goodbye-ah.  With that name, he was bound to end up a thespian or a temperamental chef.

No soup for paparazzi!  (Image from screencrush dot com)
No soup for paparazzi! (Image from screencrush dot com)

Lebeouf got his start in a show on the Disney channel – and somehow I missed it!  Later, he went on to featured roles in quite a few flicks I’ve never seen, including all three of the toy-based block buster “Transformers” movies.  As a self-proclaimed old codger, I’m more interested in getting enough fiber in my diet than I am in seeing films about tractor trailers which transform into giant flying killer-robots.  Lebeouf was also featured in one of the fourteen Indiana Jones movies.  Once again, my taste in movies kept me from dropping ten bucks to see what death defying hijinx Harrison Ford was up to this time.  I’m not really an Indiana Jones fan anyway, but I’m pretty sure Shia did not play the cute little Asian kid in the mining car.

See!?  He looks like a Camaro, but he transforms into this cool killer robot thing, right?  Okay, so how do we fill the other 89 minutes of the movie?  (Image from tfcool dot com)
See!? He looks like a Camaro, but he transforms into this cool killer robot thing, right? Okay, so how do we fill the remaining 89 minutes of the movie? (Image from tfcool dot com)

Like many young actors, Shia’s been in a few scrapes with the law.  At one point, a neighbor was chatting with someone in his car and blocking Shia from getting into his driveway.  According to a witness, Shia rammed the guy’s car and threatened him.  In another instance, Shia supposedly got into trouble for not leaving a Chicago Walgreen’s when asked to do so by management.

Both of these unfortunate incidents must have made good fodder for the gossip rags.  Though I have never spoken with Shia about these two stories, I’m entitled to my opinions.  As for the first one, I feel bad for Lebeouf; if you’re getting blocked from accessing your own driveway, it damn well better be for a good reason.  Such reasons might include firefighters getting a kitten out of a tree or perhaps vindictive staffers of a politician having jammed up a certain bridge to send somebody a little message.  One could also be expected to accept traffic issues if a piece of earth moving equipment from a nearby construction site had transformed into a massive automaton with death-ray capabilities and was terrorizing the neighborhood.  If that yahoo from across the street was sitting there in his mid-life crisis Porsche chatting it up with his 26 year old piece of eye candy, then a little bumper ramming might have been in order.  As for the Walgreen’s incident, you’re on your own, Shia.  I’ve been in a few Walgreen’s and I don’t understand why anyone would want to stay in there one second longer than necessary – just pick up your anti-fungal cream and get the hell out.

Sorry about your driveway access, Shia.  You shoulda thought of that before you bought a multimillion dollar home in a town whose mayor doesn't want to play ball, know what I mean?  (Image from freedomoutpost dot com)
Sorry about your driveway access, pal. You shoulda thought of that before you bought a multimillion dollar home in a town whose mayor doesn’t want to play ball, know what I mean?  How about some baked goods, show you I’m not such a bad guy?  (Image from freedomoutpost dot com)

In any case, that’s the life of a movie star.  People follow you around and everything you do is under a microscope.  I can’t believe that no one ever told Shia about that clause in the job description.  I’m not sure he’s going to continue acting while avoiding the public eye, or just quit the Hollywood rat race entirely.  The answer to that question is surely somewhere in his statement about quitting public life.  To find out more, I’d have to go read it, and my attention to Lebeouf’s headlines would only fan the flames he’s trying to extinguish.  As for the irony of someone who’s in the public eye using that very same fame and media access to announce that he’s retiring from public life, I’ll leave that for a more clever writer to discuss.  I don’t have the time to write that post, I’ve got to contact my cable provider to find out why I don’t get the Disney channel.

Farewell To A Soon-To-Be Bygone Era

With the opening of pot stores in Colorado in January 2014, the writing is on the wall for the impending demise of what was considered by some to be the outlaw-vogue marijuana mystique.  I thought I’d better write this before this culture of cool disappears entirely.

Smuggler’s Blues

I recall a girl I encountered one summer in my youth.  She was wafer thin and very cute.  She may have had a twin sister, I’m not sure, my memory of such ancient trivia is worn by the years.  One thing I do recall was her ingenious method for hiding a bag of pot on her person.  The tube-top and hip hugger bell bottoms she wore left precious little room for smuggling illicit cargo.  Once she was convinced that I was “cool” she lifted up the hem of her bell bottoms and revealed a bag of weed held with a safety pin to the inside of the leg of her pants.  The fact that I recall that episode at all should reflect just how impressed I was at the time.  With pot legalized, the creativity of hiding such bulky contraband will go the way of dinosaur farming and rum running.

For the record, the girl in question wore no such hat, which would have provided her with yet another hiding spot.  (Image from etsy dot com)
For the record, the girl in question wore no such hat, which would have provided her with yet another hiding spot. (Image from etsy dot com)

A Weed By Any Other Name

Once upon a time, pot was known by relatively few names like Mary Jane, Reefer or Wacky Tobacky.  As the culture of marijuana grew, smokers could choose from (alleged) strains such as Panama Red and Acapulco Gold.  The monikers of today’s varieties are certainly a departure from the names of old.  As an example, one medical dispensary in Michigan is currently offering varieties such as Cataract Kush, Ziggy Starcrunch and  Death Star Clone.  As pot becomes mainstream, it’s only a matter of time before Madison Avenue gets involved and starts coming up with slicker brand names to appeal to target demographics and such.  Potential product names include Appee-Tight, U-Wanna-Ganja, and Happy Hippy Swirl.

The New Riders of the Purple Sage had an entire record album named after Panama Red.  That's an A side and a B side, folks, a big honor indeed.  (Image from en dot Wikipedia dot org)
The New Riders of the Purple Sage had an entire record album named after Panama Red. That’s an A side AND a B side, folks, a big honor indeed. (Image from en dot Wikipedia dot org)

Max Head Room

A unique byproduct of the illicit marijuana trade was the head shop.  Largely already gone from the landscape, head shops sold rolling papers, pipes and all manner of bongs.  In addition, there were lots of cool items to enjoy once one had partaken in some git-high, such as black lights, dashiki’s for white people and slow-motion wave machines.  It’s hard to imagine smokers choosing to spend their cash on a slow-motion wave machine when for the same money they could have bought a bag of Jamaican Lamb’s Breath Ganja and still had enough spare change left for Taco Bell.  With herb going legit, the few remaining head shops will be replaced by kiosks in the mall and maybe a special counter at the local Costco.  No doubt merchandisers like The Sharper Image will get in on the market selling bongs and marijuana vaporizers.  It wouldn’t surprise me if someone came out with some sort of Keurig-like device for the people who don’t want a lot of muss and fuss with their pot preparation.

It's like watching waves form in like cross section, but then it like crashes into the opposite side and starts over again like going the other way all slow and stuff, and then it's like whoa - going the other way and...oh man, did I miss my bus? (Image from plus dot google dot com)
It’s like watching waves form in like cross section, but then it like crashes into the opposite side and starts over again like going the other way all slow and stuff, and then it’s like whoa – going the other way and…oh man, did I miss my bus? (Image from plus dot google dot com)

Consume Mass Quantities

Back in the day, buyers could get dime bags, nickel bags, and something called a “lid”.  I’ve never purchased any of these amounts myself, but I’ve watched enough episodes of Mod Squad and Dragnet to have a pretty good idea of what I’m talking about.  With legitimacy will come a new set of packaging strategies.  What was once referred to as a “loose joint” will become a “pre-rolled individual cigarette kick”, or P.R.I.C.K.  A “bong hit” will now be packaged as “single serving” or a “B-Cup” for use with the newly created Keurig-style electric bong.  The old ounce bag with be sold as a “Super Valu Pak” complete with a colorful logo and anti-theft chip imbedded in its plastic container.

You may find a nickel bag under Willie's hat, a dime bag in his pocket, and a Super-Valu-Pak in his tour bus.  (Image from Huffingtonpost dot com)
You may find a nickel bag under Willie’s hat, a dime bag in his pocket, and a Super-Valu-Pak in his tour bus. (Image from Huffingtonpost dot com)

Gather Round Kids, Pappy’s Gonna Tell You A Story About The Olden Days

I guess it was all inevitable.  The world changes and something which was once taboo becomes accepted, only to be replaced by a new naughty.  Perhaps someday, when there’s a break in the conversation around the Thanksgiving dinner table, I can clear my throat and tell the great-grandkids about the olden times.  They’ll look up from their heaping plates of genetically engineered turkey flavored nutri-paks with cranberry-essence gelcaps and listen as I tell them all about the exciting adventures of Panama Red.

An Open Letter To A Former Oregon Football Player

The news was abuzz a little while ago with the story of a former University of Oregon Duck football player who went to the UCLA-Oregon game in Eugene and was disgusted by the things he heard fans say.  He wrote an open letter to Oregon football fans.  He didn’t specify that the letter was directed only to the people he encountered in the stands, or even just the ones in the stadium itself.  He finished his letter by telling the fans to go “F” themselves.  The letter was a big hit for news merchants and the internet since everyone loves a scandal.  On behalf of at least one Oregon football fan, I’d like to submit the following rebuttal:

There's a lot more to Oregon than just the U of O, and there's a lot more to the U of O than just football players and fans.  (Image from Wikimedia dot org)
For the record, there’s a lot more to the U of O than just football players and fans, and there’s a lot more to Oregon than just the U of O. (Image of Wizard Island in Crater Lake from Wikimedia dot org)

Dear Former Oregon Ducks Football Player,

As a University of Oregon alumnus and big fan of the team, I was sorry to read that your experience as a spectator in Autzen stadium was not as pleasant as you might have hoped.  You seemed genuinely surprised that some of the roughly 60,000 people sitting around you didn’t have a grasp of the nuances of the game.  As if that weren’t bad enough, some of them seemed to be far from supportive of your former teammates.  I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt and assume that as a former player, you’ve spent far more time on the field of play than in the stands.

You mentioned that you had a few beverages before the game.  You might not have noticed, but I’m willing to wager that some of the folks you encountered that day might have had quite a few more than a few.  As if adding alcohol to people wasn’t bad enough, there’s a good chance that some of those fans knew next to nothing about the game even before they started drinking.  You might not have noticed the buffoon factor in stadium crowds before, since you were likely busy playing and focusing on the action on the field.  News flash; lots of people go to football games but know little about the sport and lots of other people go to games to drink and have fun, and maybe watch some football.

As anyone from a major metropolitan area can tell you, if you put 55 or 60 thousand people in a small area, you'll quickly find a few assholes.  (Image from bleacherreport dot com)
As anyone from a major metropolitan area can tell you, if you pack 55 or 60 thousand people in a relatively small venue, you’ll quickly find a few assholes. Just to clarify, I am not insinuating that anyone in this photo is an asshole, except maybe that one guy right there.  (Image from bleacherreport dot com)

You also wrote that you felt like a foot soldier in Spartacus.  That like slaves, you and your team mates were fed, housed, trained and given nothing more.  Don’t slam Oregon fans for that, I’m pretty sure the NCAA is in charge of what you’re allowed to get reimbursement-wise.  For the record, a quick internet search estimated the cost for an out-of-state student to attend the University of Oregon for one academic year is a little bit over $44,000 (I saw only 26 players from Oregon on this year’s roster of 120 players).  That number includes tuition, books, meals and housing .  For four years, that adds up to $176,000 ($220,000 for five year red shirt players).  I realize that to NFL players, $176,000 is chump change, but to the average pair of parents sending their kid to college, it’s a lot of cabbage.  I’m sorry you would have liked more than that for your sacrifice and hard work, but I’m guessing your parents were pretty happy about avoiding having to get a second mortgage on their house to send you to school.

On the subject of NFL players, LeGarrette Blount is playing for the New England Patriots these days.  He is best remembered for sucker punching an admittedly mouthy Boise State player in the Oregon season opener a few years ago.  Chip Kelly benched him until the Rose Bowl if I remember correctly, but the damage was done.  Another NFL player, former Duck John Boyett, lost his spot a few months ago on the Colts roster after a public intoxication, disorderly conduct arrest – alcohol rears its ugly head again.  He reportedly told the police, “You can’t arrest me, I’m a Colts player”.  To the best of my knowledge, Jeremiah Masoli never made it to the NFL.  He was the Duck’s starting quarterback before being kicked off the team, after embarrassing us all by breaking into a frat house and stealing a laptop.  The biggest sports/non-sports story these days is the Miami Dolphins letting go of an offensive lineman named Incognito who sounds like a truly special brand of asshole.  Incognito actually managed to bully a guy who is damn near as big as he is.  We fans can take solace that he was technically an Oregon Duck for a week before the coaching staff wised up and dumped him.

Many Oregon fans are embarrassed when the team we root for is associated with knuckleheads – I know I am.  Yet despite my shame, I didn’t stop watching the games on TV, nor did I burn any of my Oregon sweatshirts with the Nike swooshes.  I remained a loyal fan to my team, because as anyone would admit, it’s not fair to sully the whole program because of the poor behavioral choices of a few dopes…

Just as it’s unfair to trash an entire population of fans because you ran into some jackasses in a stadium.

Please don’t write a rebuttal to this email.  There’s a big game coming up and I’d like to focus on the action on the field.

I'm an Oregon fan, whether they win or lose.  I won't let the foolish actions of a few players, former players or fans get in the way of my loyalty.  (Image from helmetgame dot com)
I’m an Oregon fan, whether they win or lose. I won’t let the foolish actions or words of a few players, former players or fans get in the way of my loyalty.  Now stop whining and let’s watch the game (Image from helmetgame dot com)

More Tawdry Viewing

I didn’t see the MTV awards show this year.  Then again, I’ve never seen an MTV award show.

True to form, those preceding two facts will not deter me from weighing in on this year’s highly-hyped edition.  For those readers who actually saw the awards show, feel free to roll your eyes at the inaccuracies which will soon follow.  For the rest of you, take my word for it and try to enjoy my synopsis.  By reading my account and not actually watching the show, you’ll have saved yourself an hour or two, including roughly 23 minutes of Axe Body Spray commercials.

This isn't the MTV trophy, it's from Darwincountry dot org.  No one can deny the "evolution of outrageous" of MTV's award behavior.  I can't wait to read about what happens next year!
This isn’t the MTV trophy, it’s from Darwincountry dot org. No one can deny the “evolution of outrageous” of MTV’s award behavior. I can’t wait to read about what happens next year!

As a bit of background, MTV Music Television – which hasn’t aired music videos since who knows when – has an annual movie and music awards show.  The show has had its share of “outrageous” moments, all of which served to catapult someone further into the spotlight for a few more minutes.  This is the same venue where Madonna sucked face with Britney and Lady Gaga covered her loins with flank steaks (or maybe she covered her flanks with loins).  Howard Stern once flew in dressed as his own super hero, “Fartman”, and blew up part of the stage with an egger.

The Gagster had originally thought about wearing this tie with khakis and a sport jacket, but didn't think it was "outrageous" enough.  (Image from z a z z l e dot com
Lady Gagster had originally thought about wearing this tie with khakis and a sport jacket, but didn’t think it was “outrageous” enough. (Image from z a z z l e dot com

This year’s big story, if the internet is to be believed, is that Miley Cyrus did a naughty dance on stage.  To be honest, I wouldn’t recognize Miley if she was twerking right in front of my house.  It’s a safe bet that I’d yell at her to stay the hell off my grass though.  I’ve written about Miley before and if nothing else interesting happens in the future, I likely will again.  She’s constantly featured in gossip rags and we all know that’s where I get some of my best material.

Even more fun than Miley’s dancing is the feigned shocked reactions by the media to what they had all expected in the first place.  I don’t doubt that some of the talk-news types already had “outrage over something that was said or done at the MTV awards” penciled into the following week’s programming before the show even happened.

I sat in a doctor’s office waiting room on Monday, listening to one TV talking head after another yabber on and on about Miley’s performance, with one commentator making the suggestion that they should no longer call her by name.  Apparently, “She Who Will Not Be Named” is this knucklehead’s idea of a punishment for someone whose parents named her “Miley”.  It seemed something of an over-reaction to Miley’s antics to put her in the same category as Beetlejuice and Leona Helmsley.

She Who Shall Not Be Named (Image from content dot time dot com)
She Who Shall Not Be Named.  “Why so serious?” – so sayeth the Joker.  (Image from content dot time dot com)

On Tuesday I sat in another doctor’s waiting room and listened to more of the same.  I’m either getting old or I’ve changed careers and become a pharmaceutical sales rep.

At one point, they stopped talking about Miley having unsafe relations with a foam finger and discussed poison gas attacks and the likelihood of the US getting themselves into yet another no-win military clusterfuck in yet another middle eastern country.  There was a commercial break and then it was back to more in-depth debate over the outrageous behavior of former child stars.  Justin Beiber could not be reached for comment as he was busy killing a potted palm.

As the world teeters on the brink of absolute bedlam, I suppose it’s a perverse luxury to spend our time worrying about a skinny white girl shaking her moneymaker on a TV award show.  I can hardly wait to see what diversions next week will bring.

Snoopy Who?

Day six of the dog days is upon us.  I don’t know about you guys, but I’m getting tired of biting my own ass and scratching for fleas.  Today is dedicated to Snoopy.  For you younger readers, he’s a cartoon beagle who is featured in Charlie Brown comics.  Comics are like cartoons, but they’re motionless drawings and do not usually involve scores of people drawing cells in sweatshops in third world countries.

I can't believe I'm playing second fiddle to that feathered bit of fluff.  (Image from photobucket dot com)
I can’t believe I’m second banana to that feathered bit of fluff. (Image from photobucket dot com)

I hung around those dopey kids. Every chance I got, I’d steal the show. The crowds couldn’t get enough of me.

Lucy and Peppermint Patty were sharing a dressing room, while I had a suite with bowls of M & M’s with all the brown ones picked out. That was my message to Charlie – letting him know where he stood. Chocolate disagrees with me, but I demanded those bowls anyway.

Then one day, Schultzy drops a freakin’ bird into the strip. I didn’t think anything of it. Over night, he’s getting his own dorm posters and endorsement deals. Just like that, I’m second fiddle and bunking with Linus. Freaking Linus!!

That’s it – 110 words!  I’m sure you’re clamoring for more.  So here are the other Dog Days bloggers, who are slaving away at creating their crunchy nuggets that makes its own savory gravy.

Blogdramedy

Steve Betz

Joe’s Musings

MC’s Whispers

Shouts From The Abyss

H. E. Ellis

Lenore Diane

Fix It Or Deal

1 Point Perspective – Wait a minute, that’s ME!  If you’re enjoying my dog themed nonsense, you should check out this post!

Three Heads Are Better Than One

It’s day 4 of Blogdramedy’s Dog Days of Summer writing challenge.  Today’s bow wow spotlight is on none other than Fluffy, the three-headed dog featured in Harry Potter.  A couple of disclaimers before we begin; I have this all written and ready to publish on day 3, and I’m hopeful there will be internet access on the rustic portion of the Oregon coast where I’ll be at this time tomorrow.  Also, I freely admit that I have never read any of the Harry Potter books, though at least a couple of my children are fanatical about all things Potter.  I did a 30 second Google search and started typing.  A three-headed dog in a British setting?  It’s only 110 words, how badly can I screw this up?

"Hey Clive, your breath is bloody frightful it is" (Image from squidoo dot com)
Hey Clive, your breath is bloody frightful it is” (Image from squidoo dot com)

Allo Guv’nuh!

So you know, I’m the only one of the ‘eads who can speak the Queen’s English. The two ‘eads to me left lack vocabularies beyond your standard growlin’ and snarlin’.

We each got our abilities, we ‘ave. Clive on the far left is really the best suited for licking our arse. It’s just as well, I’ve never developed a taste fer it meself. Teddy, in the middle, he excels at catching flies. Not much of a skill, that, but he’s right proud of himself when he gets one. Clive and me humor ‘im and make a big deal out of it.

Hey Clive! Give our bum a lick wouldja?

Blogdramedy

Steve Betz

Joe’s Musings

Jtailele’s Blog – (Be advised, every time I click on this link, I find a blank blog.  If nothing changes by tomorrow, I’m dropping this one.)

MC’s Whispers

Shouts from the Abyss

H.E. Ellis

Lenore Diane

Fix it or Deal

1 Point Perspective – You just read my Fluffy post, why not celebrate the upcoming football season by reading my post about a really brilliant player for the Broncos?