Game of Throne Final Season Woes -OR- How I Learned Love Jetpacks AND Broadswords

DISCLAIMER: If you love the show or the books, GREAT! Don’t let my ramblings take that from you. This is mostly for comedic purpose. But, some of my true feelings are buried in this nonsensical drivel.

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At the time of writing this, season 8 of Game of Thrones is only days from airing. Like me, maybe you’ve seen tons of countdown clocks and memes in your social media feeds. People are abuzz with anticipation. The culmination of massive phenomena that began on HBO in 2011 (or those pesky written versions in 1996). 67 episodes, five published main story novels, 2 more pipe dreams of “forthcoming” books, plus comics and prequel content.

BUT, not all is well in the Land of Ice and Fire. While some fans are excited others are angry. Since the show has gone past the published works, some consider the latest season as fan-service fan-fic. Others have commented that the off screen jetpacks and rocket-powered ravens** have made them upset. Or, how the Ironborn people of Pike can make that many ships from islands that look like bleak rock.

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**These terms refer to how quickly the remaining main cast (and message by ravens) have been able to travel across Westeros and Essos with plot-convenient blinding speed. In season 1, it took what, a month of travel from kings landing to Winterell, and another month to the wall? Well, remember when Jon and crew were stuck beyond the wall in season 7, and Gendry ran back to some outpost, sent a raven to Dragonstone? Danny got on her dragon and flew there the next morning. (for perspective, just from Winterfell to Castle Black at The Wall is 600 miles by raven, 650 by road.)

There are defenders of these plot devices, saying that lore supports these things, or TV adaptation is required. Antagonists do as the internet does and just hates. So, nothing new there.

 But, I’m here to say: I don’t give a shit and I embrace the insanity.

I like Game of Thrones, both the show and the books, but the grand epic story was ruined for me, long ago. The moment overt supernatural and prophecy was added to the story, the whole thing became a house of cards to me.

See, the show (and the books) in the beginning masterfully blended political machinations with the ever present, creeping fear of the supernatural darkness. While we gasp at things like the Red Weddings, we are also aware of Jon Snow’s plight, for he’s seen beyond the wall. And that . . . that’s the problem. Sooner or later, all the who fucked who over (or simply who’s fucking who), won’t matter. Not when the Ice Zombies come a knocking. And maybe that’s the point. But it also undermines the core. The human element. Added to this, is the prophecy, you know, The Prince Who Was Promised. See, once we got the Fire God, R’Hollr Lord of Light pitting its avatars against The Great Other, the cold god of ice and death, then the wine sipping snark fests between uppity nobles were . . . well, blah.

image from HBO

image from HBO

Seriously, do you think I give two horse apples about the Iron Bank or the Golden Company when the King of the Ice Zombies killed a dragon with a fucking spear, then raised said dragon as an undead ice dragon? No. No I do not. Looking back, remember in the hot springs when Jamie gave that impassioned speech about why he killed the Mad king? Or Littlefinger’s deft plots? How about Tyron facing his dad in the crapper? Or Theon’s torture at the hand of Ramsey? Powerful human moments right?

Well I also saw and entire dead village of Hardhome stand up at once under the power of the Night King. I saw Jon Snow get resurrected (among others). I saw face-shifting disciples of the God of Death. The human story is drowned out by the fantastic. Fun Fact: in the books, Thoros of Myr, you know, top knot drunken red priest brought back Catelyn Stark? Although, she didn’t come ALL the way back. She was dubbed Lady Stoneheart and she hung Brienne. Yup. Neat stuff right? But please, tell me more about The Vale or the politics of Dorn.

No, please go on. Tell me more of your . . . politics. I’m sure I have another dragon killing ice spear here somewhere. image from HBO

No, please go on. Tell me more of your . . . politics. I’m sure I have another dragon killing ice spear here somewhere. image from HBO

Add to that the Three-Eyed Raven and time travel, then you have a cycle you cannot break. The past/present/future is seen. Maybe you can break the cycle, or perhaps we’re just watching/reading actors playing the parts as fate already decreed. Yes, the Hold The Door/Hodor bit was an AWESOME scene, but you may as well have had Marty & Doc zoom past in the Deloran.

I know, I know, I’m being both overtly narrow in my view while also editorializing for my narrative. I get it, trust me. But this is just my opinion. But once you add prophecy to a story, any story, “the story” is over. Meaning, like any book, show, or movie, once you see the ending coming, it’s a wait and see game. And in GoT there were only two options. You either take the political “medieval” drama to its end while you hand wave the mythical stuff/deal with it off camera (pissing off fans of fantasy). OR, you make a hard turn into the fantastical, and piss on the backbiting and maneuvering (and thus anger your cerebral nerds). Which is where we seem to be heading.

Now MAYBE, the show (or books) can blend the two and do so perfectly. And something tells me that there will be people loudly saying that it did AND didn’t (again, see: the internet). But based on what we saw last season, I think we should settle in for more giant set pieces, giant battles, and giant magic. I’m sure there will be some surprise deaths, some revenge, and a twist or two.

And I’m totally cool with that . . . Because I WANT the fan service.  

Like I said earlier, I like the show a lot. And in many ways, MORE than the books. Sorry literary fans. I know that is heretical of me to say, but I don’t care. Some epics are just too much. Like Dune, the first couple are solid, but then it just . . . goes on far too long, and diminishes the whole.

So after the better part of a decade for the shows, and 23 years of waiting for this goddamn series of books to be over, I say “bring on the fan service!” I was thrilled with last seasons events and I want more.  you know what I hope happens?

  • I hope Jon Snow rides a dragon, wooshing by, and beheads Jamie Lannister for trying to kill Bran.

  • I hope Sam tries to kill the Night King only for Gilly to stab him in the ass with dragon glass.

  • I hope The Hound fights Franken-Mountain in the Clegane Bowl. After which, The Hound cuts off The Mountain’s dick and tosses that Icelandic anaconda to Theon and Gray Worm who then battle for it. The winner takes it to Qyburn for reattachment.

  • I hope Brienne refutes Torman Giantbanes advances so that she and Sansa fall in love and open a goddamn flower shop in Dorn together.

  • I hope Danny finally tells Jorrah The Knight of Friendzone, to get a life.

  • I hope Theon beats his uncle at something, only for his sister to put Theon down after.

  • I hope Arya kills the Hound for his past sins, like killing her friend the Butcher’s Boy.

  • I hope Sansa learns to smile . . . an act (I wonder if Dark Phoenix will be any good?)

  • I hope Ned Stark comes back from the dead . . . only to die again, as Sean Bean does.

  • I hope that when all the heroes are dead and when Cerci sits on the throne, Varys and Gendry stab her. Only for them to then dissolve the monarchy and institute democracy. #MakeWesterosGreatAgain

  • I hope not only that Bran is actually also Bran the Builder and the Night King, but that the story ends with young bran sitting in bed, having been read a bedtime tale and the whole thing was a story (the Rian Johnson cut.)

But above all else, I JUST WANT THIS OVER SO I CAN FINALLY CANCEL HBO!!!!

See y’all in a few days around the internet water cooler!

~Gibby

Review of Captain Marvel: A Midling Movie -or- The Benefits of Being the Butt of the Joke

Right off the bat, let’s address the elephant in the room concerning this movie. While promoting the movie there was a plethora of comments and sound bites from Brie Larson about diversity and white male journalists. And naturally the internet exploded with vitriol. Who knew the internet was an opinionated place? But, I ignored it. I only cared about two things: the movie . . . and why is Brie Larson slowly transforming into Diane Kruger?

Images from Celebmafia and Getty Images

Before moving into spoiler territory, this is my brief, IMO, spoiler-free, TL;DR review: The movie firmly falls into the “It’s Fine” category. Nothing special. Nothing horrible. Nearly every story beat is predictable with minimal twists on the superhero movie formula. It has neat action. It has some jokes. It tries for heart, but misses. Captain Marvel follows in the wake of Wonder Woman, but without a seasoned hand like Patty Jenkins to guide the movie, it falls short of what it could have been. Influenced by other Marvel movies like Guardians and Captain America, but ends up in the mid-tier.

Okay, with that out of the way, the rest of the review will have some spoilers. Cool?

Marvel has always impressed me with casting, seeing something in an actor that could shine. If you look back, they cast the unstable wild card to be Iron Man, the banana in his ass comedian as Captain America, the unknown dead George Kirk to be Thor, and the pudgy schlub from Parks & Rec as Star Lord.

Images from Daily Mail, Not Another Teen Movie, Star Trek, and NBC

So when Brie was announced, I was excited. I loved her in Scott Pilgrim, The United States of Tara, 21 Jump Street and Kong: Skull Island. I was wondering what the Marvel casting team saw in her. But, after watching the flick, I think what they saw was her left shoulder, constantly pointing towards the camera, in a 3/4 square stance. The below pics don’t do justice. She loves to run/storm into frame, put her left shoulder forward, and make fists.

Images from Marvel

The movie is a pretty good action flick. It tries for comedy, and some jokes hit. But, you can also tell that the movie tried to be like Guardians, but with the 90’s instead of the 70’s. But, it never quite hits. (There’s even a scene where we’re in her head and Nirvana’s “Come as You Are” is playing. But since she disappeared from earth in 1989 and returned in 1995 . . . she shouldn’t know that song.) James Gunn brought a pathos to Guardians of the Galaxy and to his characters. A deep, personal pain to each of them which was masked in comedy. Something we the audience can relate to. But, the Captain Marvel movie is devoid of such depth.

The movie also tries to be a buddy cop flick with Marvel and Nick Fury, and that never really gels. And while Mr. Jackson is perfectly fine, the Fury you know from other movies is gone, and is replaced with this younger, dorky version who is the butt of Carol Danvers’ jokes and jibes. This self-described Retired Colonel turned Spy turned SHIELD Agent gets all gooey whenever that stupid cat is on screen “Who’s a widdle widdle good kitty kitty?”. (Yes, he says crap like that. A lot. And it sucks. And I have a cat.) The other sticking point is that Jackson and the rest of SHIELD, accept alien existence really, really quickly. I know the story needed to keep going, but as the directors/writers hand waved that bit away, I knew I was just along for the ride. Stuck in the backseat and forced to suffer bad choices. (see Fury’s missing eye here). This choice also retcon’s Fury’s speech in Avengers when he tells them that SHIELD is developing new weapons and tech because of Thor, and up until he arrived, they thought they were alone in the universe.

The movie is in essence a discovery of personal strength. You know, “the power was in you the whole time, you just had to believe” trope. As Cap Marvel AKA “Vers” discovers her past on earth, she starts to remember her old life, and there are actually very touching moments between her and her old wingman, Lashana Lynch’s “Maria Rambeau” and Maria’s daughter, Monica. When her best friend comes back, after 6 years of presumed death, Lynch’s reaction and performance is amazing

. . . and then, then they had to ruin it.

You see a few scenes later, the dialogue forces Larson to say something like “I don’t even know who I am anymore!!” Ugh. To which Lynch is forced into the other dead horse of bad writing by listing the protagonists superlatives. “You’re Carol Danvers! The bravest, strongest, and most amazing person I’ve ever known!”

I literally had my hand over my face during that scene in abject shock and cringe during this stilted scene. And for some reason, I couldn’t get the scene out of my head from Face/Off when Sean Archer is now wearing Caster Troy’s face and freaks out. His (Sean’s) best friend and partner Tito, has to remind of who he was. “You’re Sean ARCHER!!” You know, another black character reminding the white lead of their inner strength. Blah.

***Special shout out to Ben Mendleson as Talos, leader of the Skrulls. He chews the scenery and has some of the best lines and scenes. His character is given oodles more comedy, pathos, and depth. All this despite being forced to wear a mask that forced him to mumble and slur. Truth be told, if he was a new addition to The Guardians, I would totally be down.***


But since watching the movie, I’ve been trying to figure out what about Captain Marvel didn’t work for me. She was strong, she had some humor, she was snarky, she was committed. So what was it that made me, at best, iffy? And then it hit me. She, or likely the writing/directing team, refused to allow Captain Marvel to have humility.

What do I mean by that? Well, IMO, one of the reasons that the MCU characters have been so accessible, and thus successful, is because of their relatability and their humility. No, we’re not gods, super soldiers, or billionaire tech geniuses. But we are people who seek our father’s approval, feel weak, or mask our inferiority complexes with humor and narcissism. But beyond that, the characters are willing to be the butt of the joke.

Tony Stark blasted himself into the ceiling learning to fly while his robot sprayed him with an extinguisher. Thor was knocked out several times by being hit by a car, and even got a hypodermic needle in the ass mid-tough guy speech. Steve Rodgers was a scrawny, virgin, twerp who never learned to talk to women. Even in later flicks, Peter Quill is perpetually the butt of the joke. Steve Lang is constantly being mocked. Even T’Challa gets laughed at by his sister and his closest allies.

Carol Danvers doesn’t. She’s like a white-girl Vin Diesel who isn’t allowed to look foolish.

Think back on Wonder Woman. In DC’s first female led flick, Diana embodies power, poise, grace, and duty. But, she also has scenes of tenderness and humility. Remember laughing at her when she sees a baby? When she’s trying on dresses? Or when she marches out of the dress shop with a sword and shield? Funny stuff. Because the character was a fish out of water, there are moments when its okay to laugh at your protagonist. Because they kick so much butt later.

Image from Wonder Woman

Now maybe there’s a scene or two I’m forgetting which refutes these thoughts, and I’m willing to give the flick a second shot. But I think that by trying to make her a cinematic icon, they did a disservice by not allowing us to laugh at her, then cheer her later. I mean, even Rey got made fun of.

Image from Lucas Film/Disney

Another perfect example to illustrate my point in recent memory is Spider Man, Into the Spiderverse. The movie follows the standard superhero formula of newbie, incident, learning, falling, then succeeding. And Miles Morales is CONSTANTLY the butt of the joke. But, his story has style, flair, development, action, humor, and it will heart-punch you right in the feels. That’s why it beat Pixar for best animated movie in 2018, and why it will long be remembered when Captain Marvel is in the discount bin.

Image from Sony

I wondered if I was off base with my opinion of Captain Marvel. I am, after all, a white male (wocka wocka?). But once I started sifting through the reviews, I noticed a trend in the “left-leaning”/progressive websites. Some of them were not happy with the movie; seemingly upset that the movie was not what they had wanted it to be. On Metacritic, sites like Slate, Vox, Slant, The Guardian, Time, and the NY Post all had Captain Marvel in the 60% or below category. Some had titles like, “Finally, Women Have Their Own Mediocre Marvel Movie” (Slate), or “Captain Marvel Deserves a Better Movie” (Vox).

 Ouch.

But they aren’t wrong. 60% is about where it falls for me. I think there was a lot of potential in the movie But IMO, the short development cycle to get it out before Avengers: Endgame hurt the movie.

But, these are just my opinions. If you like the movie, GREAT! Don’t let me, or anyone else, tell you otherwise. Like what you like, love what and who you love.

Live long and strong

~Gibby

Gym Butt Highlanders - Or - The War of the Rumps

Think of the great rivalries. Cato and Ceaser. Michelangelo and da Vinci. Burr and Hamilton. Edison and Tesla. Kanye West and . . . everyone not Kanye West.

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These were nothing compared to what I saw on that fateful early June afternoon. I saw my sleepy little town’s gym turn into thunderdome. I saw . . .

. . . Two 19 year old wannabe Instagram Butt Models girls competing in a B*tch Off.

Laugh if you want. You weren’t there. I was.

The following events are 100% true. The names are changed to protect the innocent . . . or made up. Look, I didn’t know their real names. (Music and sound effects were added in post for dramatic effect :) )

It was 5 minutes to 3pm. After finishing my warm up of the elliptical I made my way to the free weight section. The normal afternoon patrons were there. Older people, a few early 40's folk like me trying like hell to fight off age, and of course the bevvy of young redneck men who believed camouflage was a way of life.

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All were familiar faces . . . save one. A young, fit, brunette girl in the tightest, high-waisted, olive green workout leggings. The kind that divided the butt into individual cheeks and left no room for imagination. She wore a matching low cut top that exposed cleavage and a bare mid-rift. In my mind I named this new comer “Thunder Butt.” Why? Because every exercise she did was thigh and butt based.

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(The butt and thigh exercises had become something of the latest trend at my gym with the local gals. And I’d take this moment to say this: I am not mocking this girl. You can read THIS POST to see my feelings on such shaming. I say if you have it, flaunt it for as long as you can. Time, gravity, and McNuggets are everyone’s enemy. All I ask is that you temper your confidence with just a touch of humility. Because if you spend your gym time looking down on others, I WILL mock you when you eventually get injured, or lazy, and get flabby. )

 - Now, back to the scene -

The single, redneck men watched Thunder Butt with sideways glances. They began picking up heavier and heavier weights as the primate portion of their brains told them to compete for the females attention. The males of the pack failed to notice the two thing that did matter to Thunder Butt: her upward held smart phone and the mirror. Between sets she would stand, legs askance, rump forward, side boob in frame, and camera out. Followers, not suitors, were her target.

It was then that I saw her head snap to the side. Her eyes narrowed. Thunder Butt sniffed the air. Something had her spooked. Like a highlander she knew there was something . . . amiss. I looked back towards the walkway and there I saw it. Or rather, her.

Ruby Rumble Buns. The ginger queen of the afternoon rump regiment.

(Yes . . . I name strangers at the gym. Sue me. I get bored during my elliptical work outs/between sets and giving different people at the gym nick-names is kind of my thing. In another post I can tell you all about Eminem McChicken Legs, Joey-Beard-Fashion, Captain Tans-Too-Much, Sad-Sally Trophy Tits, Roid Rage Roger, Bench-Press Mario, and Methusala’s Corpse.)

Thunder Butt scowled at the newcomer. Sadly, ole TB didn’t know that 330pm was when Ruby Rumble Buns liked to make her entrance. On this day, Ruby was sporting low-rise, dark gray leggings, with a light gray swirl pattern that circled her equally dominant backside. Ruby Rumble Buns tossed her strawberry-blonde pigtails back and pulled out her own phone. But . . . oops, she dropped it.

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Instead of picking it up like a regular human, RRB bent over at the waist, without bending her knees, to retrieve her device and to give the now frenzied young folk of the gym a show. But her real target was obvious. Ruby Rumble Buns stared right at Thunder Butt . . . and smirked.

Oh . . . SNAP!

If there was a mic, it would have been dropped. The room grew cold. Both women glared at one another. I could hear Clancy Brown’s gravely voice clear as day declare:

THERE CAN BE ONLY ONE!

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Over the gym stereo, Queen’s “Princes of the Universe” played (ok, it didn’t. But for the sake of the story just go with it.)

What transpired next was an epic war of one-upsmanship as the two titans of the tush began their war. Ruby Rumble Butt began with single dumbbell squats. She looked over ever-so-slightly at Thunder Butt with a smile that said “Go home little girl”.

Thunder Butt’s lips thinned. Her glare hardened. Thunder Butt stormed over to the assisted chin-up machine. But instead of working her upper body as designed, she placed one foot on the knee pad, and executed multiple sets of single-leg presses. Bringing her knee to her chest, she ensured the glutes would be maximized. Once done, and a picture taken, she threw a catty glance over to Ruby.

But Ruby was having none of Thunder Butt’s shade. Instead she was performing deep, side lunges with a 45lb plate in front of two young men. Once she completed her set, Ruby Rumble Buns snapped a few pics of herself, then looked up at Thunder Butt in a “Oh . . . are you still here?” look.

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Oh no she didn’t!

More exercises were done. Poses made. Pictures were taken. I give credit to Thunder Butt, she tried. She fought valiantly. But, she’d been at the gym longer, and it was clear she was tired. Ruby Rumble Buns was fresher. Determined. To Ruby Rumble Buns, it wasn’t just posing and snapping selfies. No no no. Each move she made, every step she took, ensured that the butt came first. A drink of water? Knees together, butt out. Picking up of weights? Drop it like it's hot. Even standing and checking her phone was an exercise in modeling, with one hip canted ridiculously high.

Outmatched and defeated, Thunder Butt lowered her head in shame and left the gym.

There can be only one . . . butt. And on that day, Ruby Rumble Butt won “the prize”.

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GIMMIE THE PRIZE!

Let’s Get Back to Scaring Children -or- Meh . . . a Little Therapy is Good for You

“I must not fear. Fear is the mind-killer. Fear is the little-death that brings total obliteration. I will face my fear. I will permit it to pass over me and through me. And when it has gone past I will turn the inner eye to see its path. Where the fear has gone there will be nothing. Only I will remain.”


― Frank HerbertDune

Despite the title of this post, I’m not advocating that we should traumatize kids. Nor am I saying that we should lie in wait and spring out from the darkness with a clown mask and roaring chainsaw . . .

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. . . But that being said, that would be a moment they’d never forget. Heh, good times.

This thought’s been rattling around my head for a while, scaring kids that is. As a part time writer, I’m constantly pondering new, and horrible, scenarios to put my protagonists through. In order for a story to be "good", the hero has to go through a crucible. What good is a story if there is no challenge, no stakes, and . . . no fear?

Because that’s the rub of heroism isn’t? What is courage, or bravery, if not doing what needs to be done in the face of fear?

Of course kids face fear all the time. My own son, by the time of this post, is 6 and a half. When he’s scared, I tell him that it’s okay. But, just because your scared, doesn’t mean you get to quit doing what what we’re doing.

He gets it, mostly. And in time, he’ll understand it better. But as I look at my son, I ponder: what “scary” things I should expose him to? Where are the new primers to teach a little fear? The movies, the shows, the books?

Who remembers Choose Your Own Adventure and being too scared to turn to page 26 to find out your fate? (Pro tip: If you keep your finger at the decision page, it doesn’t count.) Doing a little bit of research, I’m happy to see that scary books, like Goosebumps and others, still exist for kids. But, what about the scary movies?

A quick Google search of popular scary movies for kids came up with a list that is primarily from my childhood and formative years, with a few here and there.

By no means am I saying I’m an expert, or is this meant to come off preachy in the “kids these days aren’t tough enough”. No. Far too many young kids face real fears and horrors that I wouldn’t wish on anyone.

I’m honestly wondering: Where are the popular, modern versions of The Secret of NIMH, Who Framed Roger Rabbit, Neverending Story, Labyrinth, Dark Crystal, Willy Wonka, Something Wicked This Way Comes, Goonies, Gremlins, Star Wars, or Witches? The movies, while entertaining, are also full of dread, consequences, fear . . . hope, perseverance, and ultimately triumph through courage?

I guess Stranger Things, fits part of that, as do the modern sequels of some of those movies. But, is it the same? Are those meant for kids? Maybe I’m wrong, but, it feels like we are missing our modern Grimm’s Fairy Tales. The lessons taught to kids to give them a healthy respect of the unknown, while also thickening the emotional skin. And I’m talking about the actual Grimm’s Tales, the ones with the dark forests, cannibalism, eyeball pecking, grandma killing, toe cutting, abduction, and creepy as F*CK adults who don’t care one whit for the life of the young.

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Sure, the old movies I, and many of us, grew up on are still there. But, shouldn’t there be a new generation of film makers actively trying to murder/scare kids like Stephen Spielberg did in E.T., Hook, and Jurassic Park? For God's sake, the man killed Rufio!

I guess all I’m wondering is: are we still willing to scare the young, properly, thus instilling the value of fear? Are we still willing to teach them that The Fratelli’s will chop off your hand in a blender? That to Raptors, you are food? That Mr. Dark's Pandemonium Carnival is most likely operated by an agent of the Devil? That Darth Vader will chop off your hand, even if you are his son? That to Witches, children smell obnoxious and that they, The Witches, are demons in mortal form?

I’d like to think so. Special shout out to Guillermo del Toro and Pan's Labyrinth for keeping fear alive! 

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A taste of fear is good. A sense of the dark is good. Given a controlled space, it helps the psyche experiment with the macabre, reason with mortality, and cope better in times of real stress. 

But not TOO much. If there's too much, well,  I think we know where that leads.

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Ode to the "Tramp Stamp" -Or - Beautiful Butterfly, They Can’t Hurt You Anymore

Beauty and intrigue  

Arms raised up in youthful Joy

A turn reveals art

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Lower Back Tattoo, where did you go? You were once symbol of joy and exuberance. But suddenly, you were cursed. Shamed. They turned on you. They called you wretched names.

Ass Antlers.

Hoe Tag.

Tart Art.

The California License Plate.

And, or course . . . The Tramp Stamp.

How dare they. How dare they besmirch your beauty? Those vile, base creatures shamed you. They spat on you. Belittled you. They forced you into hiding. They said you were the symbol of the trashy.

Those miserable harridans said things like “Oh, okay Misty. Suuuure you’re going to be a marine biologist one day. Of course you are . . . because you’re so smart.

Damn it, and damn them. Misty, I believe in you. You will be a marine biologist one day. Or a dental hygienist. 

 

Lower Back Tattoo, you were replaced. Replaced but never forgotten. Not by me.

The Nautical Star can never replace you, no matter how many trendy idiots put them on their elbows.

 

They implied you were of low intelligence. But do these quirky pricks who got The Finger Mustache scream "academics"?

 

Only god may judge you? No, methinks an actual judge will judge you . . . guilty of shaming the Lower Back Tattoo  . . .  and most likely B&E, aggravated assault, resisting arrest, possession with the intent to distribute  . . .

 

Long before the Bird Silhouette and/or Dandelion Blowing came along, YOU, dear Lower Back Tattoo, were the badge of honor earned at that one crazy spring break.  

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Bows on Thighs? Ha! You can never replace the glory that is Lower Back Tattoo!

. . . well, huh. Hmm . . . let’s call you a close second.

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Ladies (and gentlemen?), hide your curling tribal marks no longer. Let your butterfly wings soar. Your days in exile are over. Thanks to insanely progressive social justice--and it's crazy that I agree--the words they damned you with are forbidden. No longer can they call your Lower Back Tattoo a “Tramp Stamp,” because that is slut shaming. If you were mocked because of your size and LBT, well, that is body shaming.

That being said, perhaps some of you may want to consider a cover-up. Progressive ideology aside, these are pushing the bounds of tolerance:

But in the end (HA!), it’s your decision. But I ask you, please come back. I remember the first Lower Back Tattoo and it was amazing. Sure it was 1996, but I can still see it. Done right, it’s sweet, sexy, and beautiful. And if nothing else, there are plenty of “No Regerts” out there to take the heat away from you.

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Return to us, Lower Back Tattoo. Show the world what you are. 

But if you don’t, then I guess we have to fall back on the underboob tattoo. Who knows what they’ll be saying about those in five to eight years.

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