It's cheap.

It's fun.

It's only mildly painful.

Nevermind the fact that it is in fact somebody putting a foreign substance into your open wounds.

It's TATTOO TIME!!!

And not the guy from fantasy island...that's just obscene.

I found out that tattoos are really cheap here, and that they are just as safe to get here as anywhere in the US that legally sells pain.  I was thinking about getting "ink" (as they say nowadays...or so I'm told) as soon as I got here. 

Unfortunately, the first guy that I talked to about the topic was insane.  I wanted something added to my crazy spider back thing, "something that will add to but maintain the spirit and flow of the current design".  His first idea was to give me some yakuza crazy dragon and tiger vest tattoo.  And his second idea, only slightly better, was to make my entire back solid black.  You know, because I've always wanted to be mistaken for a Japanese mobster or oven victim.  I then foolishly decided to let him draw on my back instead of eating lunch, and about an hour and a half later, I was met by the most horrible back raping design I'd ever seen.  It was kind of like when you go in to the doctor and he tells you that you have some weird tumor, and then they cut it out and it turns out to be a remnant of the twin that you absorbed back in the womb and it's all teeth and nails and hair and maybe an eyeball.  That's how I felt; I was releived that it didn't actually turn out to be really tragic,because it was only a drawing, but I was still really grossed out.

I decided to abandon the idea of expanding on the back until I had actually drawn something. (which will likely be sometime around the sixth week of  Jocember) and not get anything done.

Last week, however, the Tattoo guys came up here to hang out with us, because, obviously, it's pretty fun up here.  I, ever Johnny on the Spot, drew up a simple thing really quick and had them do that.  I know, not exactly in the same category as Tic-tacs and gum as far as impulse buys go, but the immediate gratification portion of my brain is very pleased.  And right now, that's all that matters.

Rather than describe it, I'll grace you all with a picture of my chemotherapy recovering ass.

Low Speed internet prevails again.  Here's a picture of a god damned monkey. (this is not the monkey that tried to throw a mangasteen at me) (This one was tied up and very well behaved after I poked it with sticks)

Also, apparently, the philippine islands have never heard of "virus protection" either for their computers or genitals.  I really don't know how many dudes (locals) I've seen come up to our camp wanting to see the "american doctor" because their peehole hurts.  Unfortunately, though, I have become a victim of the former, as I have been carelessly sticking my thumb drive ... everywhere.  Hopefully I will be able to download some AV software before my computer explodes.

That's the update.

Owing to the fact that the intertron connection here is on par with dial-up,  I must defer the posting of pictures of monkeys and such until my triumphant return.  Therefore, I would like to take this time to dispel some rumors you may have heard about the region I am now in (See recent posts)

The first thing I'd like to point out is:  Durian, a fruit which grows in the area, is NOT good.  All of the fruit that I have encountered here have been the same; They smell like bad body odor, or feet, or ass. I have attempted to stomach some of these things, against my better judgment and the complaints of my mouth and body, and contrary to what I have been told, they, without exception, smell terrible and taste only...marginal. For example, I've heard some people describe "Durian" as "like eating ice cream out of a dirty diaper". I would like to refute this now with the following 5 points:

1. Durian does not taste anything like ice cream. It tastes like a canteloupe dipped in feet.

2. Even if it did taste like ice cream, I don't know anyone that would be inclined to eat ANYTHING out of a dirty diaper, so I would say that, to it's credit, Durian is not as bad as a soiled diaper.

3. The aftertaste is something like licking a homeless Frenchman's unbathed armpit. FOREVER.  (I literally wanted to throw up from the aftertaste alone for a good ten minutes, until I had gargled and swallowed three capfuls of listerine (swallowing the listerine was necessary to keep my esophagus from pushing the flavor back out into my mouth.))

4. I have never eaten anything that has made me want to bleach my intestines...This made me want to shoot a jet of bleach into my anus and clear out my intestines, pushing everything back out through my mouth so that the taste would not permeate farther into my system.

5. Did I mention that it smells like a corpse's rotting ballsack and TASTES LIKE LICKING A DEAD MAN'S ARMPIT? because I wouldn't want anyone to miss that point.

Lori has been pestering my lazy ass to write a blog for about ...um... several months, and I have pretty much ignored her, as I usually do, but I've finally come around to the idea that it would be good to let other people know what's going on in my life for the next few months.  Also considering that I possibly won't be able to use the internet for the next little stretch, it would probably be a good idea to give you forewarning that I'm dropping off the face of the earth this time.  Oh and also, those valentine's cards that I promised are for next year.  I thought you guys knew that. 

If you guys have any questions, I'll be Yes, if you look at the picture, it looks like an old man urinating.  If you look at a picture with Malaysia, it looks like an old man urinating into a dog's mouth.

I will be on one of the urine splatter islands, not doing anything cool.  Unless you consider ridiculous amounts of Guitar Hero cool.  At any rate, I will not be doing very much in the way of performing my job.  Which everyone knows is "Pediatric Organ Consumption Specialist".

We should be back in time for the celebration of CrossMas in the winter, but I may be gone so long that the mailing of those Spiderman valentine cards may be slightly delayed.  Or I might be back for summer vacation; with these things you never really know.  (At least that's what I keep getting told)

Laugh as you may, but I have set a um...set of goals for my time in the desert jungle.

1.  Spend at least one hour per day with a pencil and sketch book in hand.  I might be able to get to a computer once in a while, so send me some ideas.  Otherwise, it'll just be a wasted hour.  And over the course of many months, those hours will add up.

2.  Read (books) for an hour every day.  You can make suggestions and or mail books and money to my wife so that she can buy books for me, otherwise I'll have to learn some foreign languange and start reading some books that I find on the ground.

3.  Lose 20 Lbs.  Should be easy since I'll be losing approximately 1 gallon in fluids every hour.  I figure that if I get Malaria, I can greatly speed up the weight loss process.

4.  Document my time in the area so that I will have something to write about when I get back.  In excruciatingly minute detail.

I think that about does it.  See you guys for Christmas...or Valentine's Day...or the 4th of July.  Whenever.

To the Y-BOt and Lucky, lucky July  Lindsay, Congratulations and good luck, though it will not be possible for me to attend, unless we come back ridiculously early.

Feel free to leave messages for me, so that I will feel important when I do get a chance to check them.  It'll also be inspirational.

I just got back from Florida and "Gryphon Group"...I would link to their page, but it would seem that you need IE to do it.  Also, they have a creepy flash animation face on it that I don't want to look at ever again.  Also I'm lazy. 

As soon as I can figure out how to use this stupid digital camera, I should be able to display some pictures and videos of me ramming cars and throwing 100 lb dummies out of drivers' seats. 

Please send me your address...If you read this and value my life, please, send me your address...else you get no card

end

Recently, someone (I suspect a monkey-like interloper) questioned where exactly our child got his genes from.  The actual comment was:"From the photo on kamikaze pigeon's blarg your landmine doesn't look like either of its parents. Did you trade the old one in for a new model?" I'm not sure if this means, "he no longer looks like his parents", or "he has never looked like the parents he has now"

Although not as recent as the pic on KP's page, the above is pretty new/old, and the resemblance is pretty uncanny, despite the fact that it was a bit difficult for me to find a picture where we have comparable expressions, as I only have a few pictures of me as a child, and our little landmine smiles quite a bit more than I do.  (That and he dresses a lot better and has mom's curly fries hair, and his balding pattern is on the opposite side) 

In fact, I have very few childhood memories that involve me being happy.  For example:  One time, when I was little, I remember being bit on the toe by an ant and then my toe swelling up to the size of my fist and turning purple.  The skin was all stretched out...like a big purple fist-shaped sausage. 

And another time, I got to drink some coffee, and my mom told me that it would stunt my growth...after I drank it.  She then continued to tell me that every other thing that I liked to eat or drink would have the same result, and that asian people are naturally short.  I like to think that it was sheer force of will that allowed me to be as tall as I am, but I have an idea that it actually has more to do with all the BGH treated beef I ate as a child.

I got to see Boston play the Mariners here my first week, which was pretty cool, since I really don't like watching baseball or crappy baseball.  However, I do apparently like overpriced cheap beer and garlic fries.  If you were following, you know that the Sox ripped Seattle apart in the first game; I think the score was actually 8-0 in the 5th inning, but at that point, the beers were beating me 5-0, so I could be mistaken.  While I really don't like to go to sporting events, it is kind of fun to go with friends, especially when everyone is drunk and/or belligerent.

It started out just like any other day.  You know, we practiced shooting people and eating babies for a while, and then one of the guys that I work with was like, "hey, the entire section is going to go watch the game, you wanna come?"
To which my response was, "where?"
"Uh, at the field...."
"Oh, so you're actually going to the game" I said like a retarded kid who has just realized that the person he was talking to was actually going to a baseball game.
"Yeah...we're going to the actual game at the actual field where they play baseball."
"Who's playing?" I inquisitively queried.
"Seattle and Boston I think.  I'm not sure, but we're all gonna go have some beers and throw bottles at the players."
I immediately told him to "Count me in!", and off we went to the game. 

It took me the entire first inning and a beer and hot-dog to find our seats, and much to my disappointment, we were much too high in the stands to throw bottles at anyone.  Also, they check you at the door and make you throw away any bottles you have before going into the game.  Unless it's got milk in it and you're giving it to a baby.  Or it's a functional part of..."um equipment that collects...fluids...like urine, you know, like people that can't pee normally."
I told the dude that I very frequently had to urinate into bottles.
"Please throw the bottle away sir, or I can't let you into the game."
"Fine," I said.  "It's not like I was going to pee in it and throw it at somebody or anything."

At any rate, a thrown plastic cup travels even less far than a full glass bottle, and that part of my night was ruined.

I saw a lot of people there that had shirts displaying their disgust for one team, or support for another, and one of the guys that I went with had a Yankees shirt on, which was funny, because all three of the people sitting directly in front of us were wearing shirts that said "God hates the Yankees" underneath their Boston jerseys. I immediately wished that I had gotten this shirt...and after the game, I did get it, so the next time I go to a game I can feel appropriate without feeling like a total sellout?!??!?

Anyway, the garlic fries and beer were good.