Remember this book?
The Illustrated Man is a book of eighteen short stories–each with a sci-fi premise and penned by”The Master of Sci-saster”, Mr. Ray Bradbury . Each story explores the nature of humankind. While none of the stories have a plot or character connection with the next, a recurring theme is the conflict of the cold mechanics of technology and the psychology of people.
The unrelated stories are tied together by the frame device of “the Illustrated Man,” a very tattooed vagrant, who the unnamed narrator meets. The man’s tattoos, allegedly created by a woman from the future, are animated and each tell a different tale.
I dug the book when I first read for some Freshman Lit course an eon ago. And when I was sent these pics via a recent e-mail, it was the first thing I thought of. It was certainly the most obvious “go to” thought for anyone even remotely literate.
Now, I could begin this particular portion of the post by saying something to the effect of “those damn kids!!”
But I won’t. I’m not my mother.
Or am I???
No!! No!! No!! No!! No!! That’s a whole OTHER post.
Anyway, I can and will say this much–when I was a wild, rebellious kid (from a nice middle class family in small town America in the late 60’s and early 70’s) the most rebellious thing I did was color my hair a little (chili powder red) I wore wore funky Chuck Taylor’s with dresses and skirts and I wore oddball nail colors. We tried to be different. We tried to set ourselves apart from all things conventional. Certainly, we wanted separation from The Establishment–which was everyone over 30.
But these kids are taking the effort to be unique to a whole new level. Sadly though, in their attempts to be unique, they’re being just like everyone else making the same effort. Therefore, I think they find strength in numbers.
I guess we were guilty of that, too. But NOT to these extremes.
And yes, I am talking extremes.
See kids, this is what happens when a good tattoo artist and piercing expert runs amok OR….you just wake up one day and you look in the mirror and see these strange rings and studs and bars dotting your face, lips, ears, nose, cheeks, eyelids, brows, forehead, chin and tongue and you realize that you have way too much fucking iron in your system.
The late, great actor Peter Boyle who we loved in “Young Frankenstein”and as Frank in “Everybody Loves Raymond” had natural ridges on each side of his forehead.
See Snuffy below. Is this his attempt to emulate the actor?
Nah!!!!! This guy is just an idiot AND an asshole.
The ultimate nipple key chain……or Barbie clothesline.
“Hello Nonie! I’d like for you to meet the Prime Minister. He comes from a very colorful family, unencumbered by convention, breeding and taste…….'”
And finally get a load of this one, kids…
What in GOD’S name is this??? I’m sorry but I DO NOT get this! Do these people have no concept of self mutilation? Do they have no clue as to how this will look when they’re 79 with a prostate as big as a Rawlings NBA regulation basketball while confined to a wheelchair and peeing into their shoes every time they cough?????
Now, I have no qualms with this…
This is a woman belonging to the Apatani tribe which resides the Arunachal Pradesh region of India.
Upon maturity, women used to put these disc things in their nostrils. I get this, to a degree. I suppose I understand the social commentary it makes within the tribe, but I don’t understand the fashion statement it represents. I guess in that part of Asia, nostrils you can drive through are considered hot.
This is either a special decorative plug of some sort or this has GOT to be the world’s largest black head.
Either way (and with any semblance of anthropological comprehension aside) it’s still gross….damn gross.