That's Never Going to Heal if You Don't Stop Picking at It

Once upon a time, what specific "time" it was is something of a mystery, and by "mystery," I mean way back when I was still dwelling in a small cinder block cell (or college dorm room, if you will), I knew three young gentlemen who insisted upon calling all name-brand merchandise by its lesser-known generic name, or a generic equivalent.

For example, they never called Frisbees Frisbees. They called Frisbees "novelty flying disks." Yeah....

Q-tips were always "cotton swabs," Kleenex was always "facial tissue," and I'm sure Cheetos were always "cheese flavored corn crisps." I'm not joking. They actually did this. I frequently asked why they did this, but I was never presented with any logical or practical reason. I think mainly it was because they wanted to be different. Or amusing. Or both.

This is not to say that I required a logical or practical reason – I rarely make such frivolous and futile demands on people. If they had told me it was part of the requirements for their Unholy Cult of the Latter Day Satan's Helpers, or if they were doing it because of some sort of obscure foreign holiday, I would have understood completely.

So needless to say, out of these three gentlemen, I was really only good friends with one of them. Nice guy, very Irish. And I'm sure one of the other two has since won the World's Biggest Yuppie Douche Award – 3 years running! And if he hasn't won that infamous and prestigious award, I'm sure he will soon. He is destined for it, trust me.

And as for the last fellow, well.... I don't know. I just don't know. I'll say this much, though: I hope he stopped wearing those tight-fitting denim high-waters. Otherwise, at this point, he's definitely as sterile as an unopened Band-aid. Oh, I'm sorry – as sterile as an unopened "compact adhesive bandage." And hopefully he has figured out that there is more to life than getting blow-jobs from strange women. Granted, there's not much more, but there's still more.

In any case, they were an interesting bunch. Not as interesting as, say, the creepy, foul-smelling derelicts who seem to be omnipresent in the world of public transportation. They are on EVERY bus at EVERY time. Explain that to me!!!!! They lurk and they loom, always muttering to themselves and occasionally displaying some of the more savory symptoms of THE DREADED TOURETTE'S SYNDROME.

Yeah, no one comes close to that lot. They're the best of the best of the best, SIR! With honors! No one is nearly as interesting. Or as malodorous. And the more normal you appear to be, the more they hone in on you. They feast upon the Average Joe and the Mind-My-Own-Business types like maggots on an old leathery steak. The best course of action, and the course frequently employed by my cousin, is to behave even more inappropriately than they do: random clapping, raucous guffaws, mindless humming, things of that ilk.

I had to take a bus out of Providence once – Providence to Pawtucket, so you know there's going to be a number of Exceptionals on that one. It was raining heavily that day and many of the roads were flooded. And of course there was a cataclysmically stoned guy sitting near the front, occasionally laughing at nothing and rubbing his droopy, red-rimmed eyes. He was probably in his mid to late 20's, though it was hard to tell. It's always hard to tell with druggies. Anyway, we got to one flooded road and the bus almost got stuck. The guy immediately burst out with, "Ohmygod!! Ohmygod!! This is just like that movie, "Alive"!! Did you guys see that movie??? Wow! This is just like that movie! You know that movie, "Alive"?? I want you all to know that if we get stuck here forever, you all can eat my bum. I'm kinda skinny, so it'll sorta be like eating a pigeon. But you can have it! I'm giving it to you!"

Then he proceeded to give everyone on the bus "bad-ass" nicknames. I don't remember all of them, but I remember that my sister and I were lovingly labeled "9 Millimeter and Baby 9" respectively. Then he rubbed his eyes, coughed a few times, and looked around like he had no idea where he was or who all these people were.

Ah, memories. I liked that guy. He was cool. He didn't use generic names or wear tight high-water pants. I'm actually impressed that he was wearing pants at all, come to think of it. Go him!! So good luck to you, Raving Derelict, wherever you are! I sincerely hope you didn't offer to let people eat your bum too frequently. You never know who might take you up on it.



I'm cold and there are wolves after me,
The Cage.

Do You Like the Taut Roundness That Exercise Brings to the Buttocks?

(*Side Note: This blog was originally written and posted on June 27, 2007 - before "Indiana Jones and The Kingdom of the Crystal Skull" or whatever it was called came out. In hindsight, I would have preferred to see old Indy drive a huge Volvo into an outdoor market.*)



I'm a fun-loving person. I enjoy penny-whistles and moon pies as much as the next short guy. Or girl, rather. Or.....ummm.....robot. That reminds me – Get Robot Insurance. Contact your local Sam Waterston for further information. Residency restrictions may apply. Must be 18 or older to order. Women who are, or may become pregnant should not obtain Robot Insurance, nor should they speak to Sam Waterston.

So I have mixed feeling when it comes to the elderly. They're kind of cute when they think that touch-tone phones are cutting edge. And when they still try to force purse-candy on you even when you're pushing 30. Purse-candy = root beer barrels, cinnamon discs, and star mints - all sticky with age, complete with pieces of pink tissue stuck to them.

But, you know, they're not so cute when they spontaneously forget that they're behind the wheel of a gigantic Volvo and go careening into family picnics and outdoor markets. Or when they try to get on the highway by traveling UP an off-ramp, despite the huge, red DO NOT ENTER signs. And not-so-cute when they think they can get away with being rude and repugnant simply because they're a little closer to looking like The Mummy than the rest of us.

Yet it's very cute when they get away with shoplifting. I love that!

Old people. Yup.

So let's talk about Harrison Ford. The man is old. O – L – D. He was once very dapper, but now he's getting warty and saggy because that's what happens when you get old. Yet they're making another Indiana Jones movie...? Don't get me wrong, I LOVE the Illinois Smith, I mean Indiana Jones movies. I have fond memories of not being allowed to watch the Nazi Face-Melt Fiesta at the end of "Raiders of the Lost Ark." And I was also told to cover my eyes when the Nazi collaborator drinks from the wrong Jesus Cup and rapidly degrades into a desiccated husk towards the end of "The Last Crusade."

Ah....good times. Nazi face melts, ersatz Jesus Cup that causes advanced husk-age, and Molaram Sularam Hoodeedoo Jabooty Flipflop ripping out still-beating hearts. Those were some magic Hollywood moments, right there.

Great movies. Great leading man. But now he is OLD. What's the title of this new Jones film going to be? "Indiana Jones and the Lost Secret of the AARP"? "Indiana Jones and The Escape From Shady Acres Retirement Home"? "Indiana Jones and The Search For A Country Kitchen Buffet"? "Indiana Jones and The Huge Fuck-Off Volvo That He'll Drive Into Oncoming Traffic When He Suddenly Becomes Disoriented"?

Actually, I'd pay to see all of those movies, so I guess the joke is on me.

Let's keep in mind, however, that not only is Harrison Ford OLD, but he is also married to the illegitimate offspring of Gollum and Twiggy. Not too many people know this, but Gollum and Twiggy had a "thing" back in the Swingin' 60's. It was damn good times for a while, but then Gollum's increasing drug use and violent mood swings eventually led to disaster. Tragically, on the day Twiggy finally got up the nerve to leave Gollum, she was struck by a toddler riding a Big Wheel, and was instantly crushed on impact.

It was a wake-up call for Gollum, who legally changed his name to Sméagol, and he suddenly became dedicated to raising their infant child, Calista, in a good stable environment.

Those were some great years for father and daughter, but true to his nature, Sméagol fell back into old habits once Calista left for college. Eventually, he went quite mad and fell into a colossal fiery mountain precipice while fighting with a cute muffin-faced short guy who may or may not have been part of Sméagol's drug-induced hallucination. Or maybe it was that kid from "Flipper"....

Everyone said it was the burning hot lava that killed him, but 'twas truly the drugs that did him in. Or maybe it was the magma. Who among us can really say? But if he had only loved Twiggy enough, it never would've happened! Why Sméagol??!! WHY?!!!

But on a happier note, Calista went on to star in an annoyingly quirky T.V. lawyer show where she routinely had strange mood swings and frequent hallucinations (sound familiar?). After one too many spear-chucking, opaque, dancing baby hallucinations, and an incredible upstaging by Lucy Liu, "Quirky T.V. Lawyer Show" was canceled.

But Calista moved on. She starred, or rather was part of a large ensemble cast, in many.... or a few.....ummm.....one decent movie. Then, soon after, she married a man older than Gandalf. Sméagol would've been so happy for her. As for Twiggy, I believe it was scientifically proven that she was too thin to express emotion, so she would've been happy on the inside. Awwww!

Where was I? Oh right. Stay in school.



With Sincerest Sincerity,
-The Cage.