Boys Becoming Men, Men Becoming Wolves

Today at work I got burned on both wrists by battery acid. (I was wearing protective gloves, which made a noble effort but failed, nonetheless).
And you know what? It wasn't at all like Fight Club: I did not have a nietzchean epiphany in which my atavistic self confronted my repressed neurotic self. It just itches. Itches a lot.

Mind you, not a stanley kowalski/method acting/just-took-a-bunch-of-oxycontin and-can't-stop-scratching-my-belly-detachedly... more like just a bad allergic reaction, mildly toxic bugbite kind of itch.

Please send me a remedy.

The Girl with the Vagina Made of Glass

"What style, what class

                                                     The girl with the vagina made of glass
                                                                   So perfect and pure
                                                             And gynecologically demure
                                               And the way her buttocks chews on her shorts
                                                          Is very nice, oh yes, it's very nice
                                              And the way her perfect bosoms need no support
                                                           Oh yes, that too is very nice
                                             And wherever she may go all heaven surrounds her
                                                 Envy's green-eyed monsters confound her
                                                     Age-old myths and legends come true
                                                      Ancient prophecies all come to pass
                                                          All this, and all because of you
                                                     The girl with the vagina made of glass"

--Cory McAbee

(sculptural detail 2012 Alex P. Rodriguez)

Stormtrooper in drag

I dreamt that I lived with my mom in a little townhouse by the sea. She lived downstairs and drank constantly and I lived upstairs and we avoided each other aggressively. 

I looked out at the shore and saw a huge American fleet being assembled to invade another country. It looked like the world's greatest set of toy soldiers. Aircraft carriers and battleships and landing craft. Gigantic U.N helicopters twice the size of Sikorsky seakings. And these great big boxy square things, looked like boxcars but they were huge and each one could carry one Space Shuttle inside. The boxy things floated 10 feet above the water as the shuttles were being loaded into them, and I hadn't the foggiest notion what kept them airborne.

I walked outside, trying to take pictures, but my cameras didn't work. I had 2 digital cameras, a bunch of memory cards, but I couldn't get a single shot to work. I ran in and out of the house looking for batteries, memory cards, but nothing worked.

There were amusement parks and carnivals set up on the decks of aircraft carriers so that the troops could enjoy one last afternoon with their families before they shipped out. I walked right out to the edge of the shore trying to get a better look, but a wave swept me out to sea. The same wave swept a squad of troops off the deck of their landing craft, they were dressed like WW1 doughboys, armed with bolt action rifles. We climbed onto some debris and tried to paddle under a pier, but troops on a nearby ship saw us and thought we were enemies in disguise or possibly deserters, started shooting at us. We hid under a pier, a huge orange fish swam up alongside us and told us to just give ourselves up, explain it was all a misunderstanding, but we told the fish they were shooting at us and the fishe's eyes got big and black and he swam away. We snuck inside a ship that was so big, it had old fashioned trolleys and trains running inside it.

The dream became a violent comedy of trying to sneak back into friendly ships, gaining more lost soldiers, being shot at, losing some of our refugees before gaining more, and just generally sinking into more and more hopeless confusion and mistaken identity. 

At one point I found  "Fred Flinstone" and "Barney Rubble" costumes and I told the doughboys under my care that they had to pick the shortest, blondest soldier in the group to play Barney to my Fred and the giant orange fish reappeared and told us that we were already back home on shore and further subterfuge would be unnecessary. 

He was right. We walked into the living room of my little split level house and my mother's apparent boyfriend came upstairs, it was Robert Carlisle in his "Begbie" character from "Trainspotting". He looked at my refugee soldier friends suspiciously and was maybe about to start trouble when there was a knock at the door. It was a different group of lost soldiers, they had obviously been attacked like us so they decided that if their authentic uniforms and loyal identities made them suspected as infiltrators, they would try the opposite strategy and pose as nazis, but not just regular nazis but totally fucked-up transvestite nazis. There was a Josef Goebbels impersonator wearing an alpine maiden's drndl and a Rudi Steiner in drag and the shortest one was the leader, a hastily put-together adolph hitler with a greasepaint moustache and pink tutu. Hitler spoke to me through the screen door: "Zo, you zee zat vee are obfiously chermans" and I said "Yess, I can zee zat you are chermans" and the little guy in the hitler disguise dropped his accent and said "Wow, your fake german accent is better than mine" and I shouted: "By pretending not to be cherman, you haz giffen avay zat you really are zee cherman shpies, und I vill killink you!" and I took a long knife and stabbed hitler in the gut through the screen door, slowly twisting the knife to the dismay and horror of his compatriots. I woke up feeling incredibly refreshed and pleasant, this being the second dream in which I killed hitler. Killing hitler in your dreams is always an awesome feeling.