They say an image speaks a thousand words but they can rarely muster what needs to be said of 1,000 pounds. Words nor a photo really come close to describing it.

With that said, here is an open door to a world that few know of and even fewer have seen.

For those who have been there from the beginning, thank you. For those who never tried or gave up before the life in the making began...yeah, you blew it.

It all started around 6'2", 900 pounds - 11X Shirt 72" Pants




It has all come to an end at 6'5" 295 pounds. 2X Shirt - 40" Pants - (1X Shirt 32-36 after skin removal)



Photos by my friend Shane Woodham

Yeah, I am one of those people. The "TLC Special" people. Well, not really. I have no show. I have not been documented by the Discovery Channel. I still have 40-50lbs. of skin to remove which will take me to a nice 250lbs. I can not convince insurance to cover it. Insurance...sometimes it doesn't matter if you have it or not. I am currently saving pennies and collecting cans to cover the first 10 grand to cover 2 of probably 6 surgeries. Wish me luck.

The exper​ience​.​.​.​.​


Take a momen​t to feel your stoma​ch drop as a nervo​us rush of chill​s and shivers flow into your body and mind like the first​ time you were ever touch​ed by someone, the first​ day of schoo​l,​ or the momen​t the rolle​r coast​er tops the hill and you prepa​re for the worst​.​


It's like that for some.​.​.​when we start​.​ It doesn​'​t last.​
It just bets bette​r.​


Take a momen​t to feel excit​ement​ like a kid on Chris​tmas Eve. You feel that sensation in your body and legs like a small​ dog that just can'​t sit still​ when it is happy​.​ So eager​ to begin​.​ When was the last time you went over a hill too fast?



It's like that for some.​.​.​when we start​.​ It does last for a bit.
But it chang​es in a way.


You can lay back, close​ your eyes and feel a cool wet brush​ press​ into your skin as it trace​s each goose​ bump.​


Somet​imes its warm and very massa​ge like.​


We talk,​ you laugh​.​ We speak​ very littl​e,​ while you liste​n to the sound​s of your self breat​hing,​ the brush​ mixin​g the paint​,​ each strok​e as it goes over your skin,​ the hiss of the airbr​ush causi​ng chill​s to shoot​ up and down.​.​.​but in a good way. Some may even drift​ off to sleep​.​



But the initi​al feeli​ngs have chang​ed.​ Nervo​us?​ You are not. Overl​y excit​ed?​ You are still​,​ but very relax​ed.​ But more impor​tantl​y.​.​.​comfo​rtabl​e.​ Which​ is what its all about​.​.​.​to be comfo​rtabl​e and relax​ed.​


You lay on the table​ - put some headphone​s ..​ your eyes or put a warm sleep​ing mask on - and exper​ience​ being​ throw​n into the art. Be the color​s and canva​s not just the perso​n stand​ing on the outsi​de looki​ng in.

It's not just the art of the finis​hed produ​ct that matte​rs.​.​.​it'​s the journ​ey as well.​


You can go have your picture taken or come to me and we'll take a journey.


Let's take a trip.

On my way to work today, while minding my own business trying to get my Belkin ipod FM transmitter to work, which it doesn't, so Belkin can eat a fat one, I was drinking a cool Mocha flavored Frappuccino because they don't make Hazel Nut and, well, fuck vanilla, because it tastes like ass, I saw something that made me OBLIGATED to come here and tell you, my loyal friends and non friends about it by starting off my story with a big run-on sentence.


So, yeah...I was chillin with my cool coffee quenching the inner loins of my throat hole when I saw, what I thought to be an animal, perhaps a big black lab in the middle of the road.

When I say road, that is an understatement. Road in this story is a 4 lane, 5 if you count the turning lane, highway that runs through a commercial zoned area with stores and business etc etc. There is a 45 MPH limit and people may adhere to that rule on a Jewish holiday or during a funeral procession.

So In the "road", in the passing lane, the lane that allows the supper speeders to pass the speeders, OR allows anyone from Talbot County to ride in it for about 3 miles and piss off 1,800 people who actually have somewhere to go by driving 35MPH, there was a scooter.

There was a scooter, you know something like the Rascal Scooter for those that need assistance getting around.



It was spray painted black and it had fluorescent orange spray painted flames on it.



Riding like Walker the Texas Ranger atop his trusty steed returning from whatever Broke Back adventure he just had was an old black guy that resembles the dude below wearing a green jacket (think Born on the 4th of July) with a white ball cap on backwards.




It was his road, and fuck any of us who wanted to use the fast lane.

Perhaps he was the left hand of God that was put there to prevent something bad from happening? Traffic as a whole, came to almost an Atlanta like standstill.

Or was he just a guy that needed to get to the Piggly Wiggly and his bad ASS flaming scooter was his means?

Although something similar has happened before with an old man and a wheelchair that was crossing the street, this was a guy, not crossing the street, but cruising down the highway OCC style.

That was the coolest thing I have seen EVER and had myself or someone else made him some sort of abstract art across their windshield today, it would have been my new found purpose at that very moment to block off traffic and hold a "We're not worthy" vigil for this guy and demand that the city erect a statue in his honor because he's fucking cool.


A flaming rascal scooter...I got nothing, that is the joke.


True story.

**editors note: any link in the blog is safe, it is coded to open a new window or tab so you do not leave the blog. The links are safe and they do help with the overall feel and message of the blog. So feel free to click them, or just don't because you are paranoid and you can be the one who never gets the prize in the Cracker Jack box….loser.***


So here I am, 3 days after Christmas. You know that time of year that brings out the best in people…I mean the very best with Crunch Berries…

Yes, I said it, Crunch Berries. Crunch berries are the shit. Captain Crunch is the God of all cereals and the ONLY fault it has is that it cuts the hell out of your mouth. BUT if you get Captain Crunch with Crunch Berries, those little bastard cuts, that would heal if you would leave them the hell alone, are justified by every fruity sugary burst of Crunch Berry Goodness. Who cares if it makes your kids….




…and their health is not important here…

Crunch Berries are the shit.

But anywho….


Christmas, that time of year that brings out the best in people…

Worker Killed in Wal-Mart Stampede

Two Shot Dead At California Toys R Us

Now I know these were "After Thanksgiving Sale" stories, but it really does boil down to Christmas. And the bullshit that people do and go through just to but the latest and greatest gizmo that companies make the kiddies and some retarded adults believe they have to have to make themselves whole again. What the hell? I have never, in my entire lifetime of remembering shit (starting at roughly 3-4 years old) have been to an after Thanksgiving sale. To save what? Notnearlyasmuchtomakeitfuckingworthittodealwiththecrowdsofuntrainedpenguinsduringafeedingfrenzy% off of the latest and greatest Automated Laser Guided Tickle Me Wii Fit Ass Wiper with a Compass in the Stock and This Thing That Tells Time.

30% off the Ronco Food Dehydrator isn't enough for me. Why? Because it's the same shit they will have on sale again, and again, and will be cheaper soon enough anyway once all the hype dies down.

I mean lets all go get a Wii and fight over it…I mean every family needs one.



**editors note: is it just me or is it even more funny at 3:29 of the video above that the kid knocked on his ass is wearing an AIG insurance shirt. I wonder if they helped him out with his medical problems after that***



I have a hard enough time trying to get something from Wal-Mart in the middle of April at 2 a.m. on a Friday morning let alone to try to deal with the same brain dead bunch of goofballs times 100 who are all after the same thing.

I just want my econo-sized jug of baby oil and a few tarps is that too fucking much to ask without having to kick someone over?

And if you have seen me in person you 1) know that I can kick someone over with ease and 2) am not lying about my purchase.

And those two headlines aren't even the worst; they're just the saddest because of their nature.

But anyway…where was I?

Oh…Merry Christmas!  I know it is over and we are off to the New Year!

I have nothing for the New Year, why? Because it's not here yet numb nuts that's why. Come on…work with me a wee bit.

Ok so now that I have that bit of dribble out of the way lets move on to by blog list.

I have a blog list and some do not believe me so here…



I carry my Ipod touch around with me for various reasons. Mainly to show off my work on the spot when a business card just won't cut it at the moment. I also use it to keep notes of blog worth ideas, conversations, observations etc. etc. that come up that will fit into a blog later.

So lets see.

I like going to the bookstore. I am a cook at heart. Several people in my life have always said that had I not been an artist and an all around smart ass I would have been a chef…and an all around smart ass. SO I am an artist who loves to cook. Cook books are awesome, but ONLY if they have pictures. I cannot stand a cook book with no visual of what I am supposed to be cooking. My brain does not function on words alone, I have to have pictures to make the connection of something being edible and enjoyable to prepare.

This falls under the same old saying of instructions have pictures for the guys and words for the women. But in my cookbook shopping days I have made many comments to female cookbook shoppers about the pictures and it is a common thing…we like to see what the fuck were cooking.

I also like to walk in and make observational notes about people sitting. Those who sit and really read, those who sit and pretend to read who are 1) watching people themselves or hoping someone of the opposite (or same) sex will think they're cool and intelligent for sitting in the bookstore reading and will instantly want ride and or mount them were they sit because they're so cool for parking their ass and essentially pirating (stealing for the older crowd) the books in the book store. And I say stealing because most of these people will read the whole damn book while they're there and leave.



Or read part, leave, come back and finish it the next day. They are in fact stealing the book in my opinion. I mean you don't go to the video store with a portable DVD player and plop your fat ass down in the aisle and watch the movie do you? But most aren't really reading anyway, I mean how can they? It is not like Barnes and Nobel is the quietest to read, so how can one really concentrate? They're not. They're hopeless romantics or perverts. Which is fine, if it works for them, but they are cool to observe, especially those who aren't good at the looking up from the book to look at someone without being noticed.

But I didn't start this section of the Bookstore blog for to make fun of those trying to get a piece of ass…no sir. I started it for those who desperately NEED a piece of ass and are ashamed of going to the proper place to get their porn fix.

Why do all the nude photography books in the photography section look like they have been manhandled with the 14 inch dick of a big tattooed Samoan?



I mean really? We were in the bookstore and I was headed to the cook book section.
One would think in contrast that there would be some cookbooks torn all to hell and gone with a crazed person's eating disorder funk smeared all over them. But they're not.
We pass by the photography section, which is beside the cookbook section…

***editors note: I really wish the powers that be at Barnes & Nobel would make they're fucking mind up on the location of the art and photography section. One day it's beside the journals near the check out, and the next its by the cook books, and then it will be in the 3rd stall of the bathroom….please….make you're damn minds up.***

So while browsing the titles, most of them make me sick….ok, I'll admit they don't make me sick, they make me say "why the fuck didn't I think to do that" to myself. I mean lets shoot a whole book dedicated to photos of worn shoelaces and sell it. Yes, I admit, I am jealous. One day soon. One day soon.

But anyway, while I was browsing titles such as "50 Years of Time",  "Lighting Techniques for Beginners", "John Hedgerow's: Insert whatever he is teaching this time here" , all in excellent condition, I see a book that is just worn down to its asshole. I pick it up and it is "Nude Outdoor Photography" and I skim through more nice books and come across another, "Playboy's Best Photos", and again, keep going through clean books and another worn out book, "Glamour Nudes Lighting Techniques."

I wondered why most books looked like this….



and the books with nudity looked like this…



It wasn't just in the photography section, in the self-help sections, all the mind, body and spirit sections were intact, but a Joy of Sex book? A Karma Sutra book?  That Hidden Sex Book from American Pie? They all look like they were raped by a classroom of mini Kobe Bryants and Mike Tysons.

Why? Because the book store is the last safe porn house for kids and those to ashamed to admit they can't see or get the thing in real life and are too ashamed to go to a real porn book house to get a piece of great literature of the 20th century….Penthouse Forum.

While mom is off looking at what ever Oprah has shoved straight up her ass this week, junior heads to the Photography section, picks his favorite hardbound 105 page table top collection of muscle throbbing goodness. Unless of course he is with his dad, he has to head to the self-help section because dad is currently trolling the photography section and they switch off when the other isn't paying attention.

Is their a point to this? Just a warning to all those humping the books at the book store….

Wear a condom, because your dick just touched every other dick that was shoved between those pages. I am just saying.


Intermission: You wouldn't know this but from that last sentence to know has been a while, I went and made some coffee and stretched. And if you did know that, how the fuck? And can you see what I am doing now? And furthermore…do you want to join?

I find myself fighting the temptation of using Hazel Nut Liquid Creamer vs. Crème Brule Liquid Creamer and said "fuck it" and mixed them together. And MMMmmmMMMmmm Toasty…sorry Quiznos…had to.

It is a damn shame there isn't a Crunch Berry flavored coffee creamer.


***editors note: I really do hope you would have taken that break to get your own coffee because if you could see, probably not, from my blog list photo above, I only tapped on number one of the list. And if you make it to the end of this without skipping, you will have earned a special place in the heart of my bottom.***

So while in the middle of a painting session I have a conversation that took an odd little turn while I was rubbing the paint onto the feet of the model.

Stop what you're doing right now, take your shoes and socks off and look at your feet. Wiggle your toes, spread them apart, and just admire them. Fascinating little creatures aren't they? You know why you're wiggling your toes, and spreading them and moving them about? So you will under stand what I am about to say.

Your feet look like the underdeveloped hands of a deformed person, don't they?

I don't know, she agreed while she was essentially getting a foot massage and really couldn't look at her feet the same again. So yes, go bare foot, wear your open toes shoes and show off your feet that look like a conjoined twin tried to separate itself from you by doing and handstand and failed. Be proud.



Intermission: I love the show "HOUSE"….he is such a fucking smart ass….just thought I would share. Santa brought me the first 3 seasons of it and I have been enjoying it.  Any fans of Hugh Laurie will love this…




Why is it that when you call someone and they're asleep and you wake them they will not admit that you just wok them up? Even I do it. Why are we so damn embarrassed to admit it? Especially if you call or are called in the middle of the afternoon. Are people not allowed to take a nap? Why are we ashamed to be caught sleeping when we feel we shouldn't be.

Ring…..Ring…..Ring….

"Hello…snort…wheeze, yaaaaaawn….cough…hack…snort again……."

"Where you asleep?"

"N-yawwwwwwnnnnn-o, I have been up…cough"

People sound like you just dragged them out of a 20 year coma and aren't even awake enough to have a conversation and will refuse to admit that the were just woke up.

It makes no sense….

Someone explain it to me.




Some of you may wonder what that image above is. You may wonder what it's meaning is. You know there is a point to that image. There is always a point. Even if most of what Fox news spews out into the airways makes most want to rip their face off with a rusty claw hammer, there is still a point, although that point may be as useless as a 15 year old boy to Michael Jackson, but a point none the less….


Intermission: So, that was a good spot to pose the question….

"as useless as…."

What? Name off some in your comment.

An ashtray on a motorcycle?

Nipples on a man…

A Marshmallow fire suit…

Give me some….



So anyway, back to the photo. I do try to give people the benefit of the doubt when it comes to how silly they are. But why is it that most people, and I say most because 90% of all of what I am about to discuss have the same problem above, think that the rest of the world has super duper special power vision?

I mean did you not see that sign was trying to tell you where the yard sale was?

I love yard sales. Nothing makes me happier than going through someone's old shit that they spend good money for and giving them 50 cents for it. Unless of course you come across some greedy dipshit who is out trying to sell a 20 year old collection of paperback romance novels for $2 each. They are usually the people with all their shit unsold past the noon hour.

The noon hour….most yard sale people, shoppers that is, know that noon is the usually cut off time for a yard sale. So if you roll up to one that still has all their shit at noon, there are two things wrong. They are selling complete garbage or they are not selling it for yard sale prices or they're as bright as a solar powered flashlight and made up a sign that was as useless as…..

Why on earth are you even going to bother putting up a sign that people can't read. People must be able to read your sign from at least 20-30 feet away and going at least 25 MPH. If they can't read it then they're not going to bother. But if they want to bother, they have to slam on the brakes, and cause an accident. Why? Because you're dumb ass put a yard sale sign on a fucking post-it note and stuck it to a stop sign at a busy intersection.

I wish a cop, after dealing with a wreck caused by a yard sale sign would go to the address, find out who made the sign, and hit them with his nightstick, or better yet a little rectal shock therapy with his taser.

Now there are those who do try a little. They get great big fluorescent orange posters, which are great attention getters then their true form shows when they write on it with a balled point pen - red of all colors. Lets not mention that the pen's line is as thin as the Bush Administrations reason's for doing, well, anything….but the Gump brothers decide to use red ink as well.

Really, people, wise up and make a sign that someone can actually read.

I really do want to buy your old collection of Johnny Cash albums and combat boots…but I can't if you refuse to help me with a sign that says something.

If I ever have a yard sale, which I won't because anyone with a lick of sense will use ebay, BUT if I am ever forced to have a yard sale I will have a someone in a chicken suit or something standing at major intersections with a monster sign that says…

"Shit I don't Want But You May For Sale, This Way!!

You know  like the Woodruff Farm Road CiCi's pizza dude or K-Mart when they're going out of business…again.

***editors note: Why is it the Ledger Enquirer (the Columbus, GA Newspaper for those not from the area reading this) has people who look almost homeless sitting on every corner selling their papers? I am not trying to be mean about the people selling them, this is a legit question. Everyone has a fold out chair and they look like Joe Pesci from "With Honors"



Is it like during the days of the depression, "down at the docks" a crowd lines up and those picked gets to sell the paper and those not picked, well, they're just fucked?

I am serious…how does this work?

Maybe, just maybe, they could reverse the rolls and let the outsourced India guys do this corner sitting subscription hustle and bring the residents of their own fucking city inside and teach them to do some work for the paper? I don't know, I'm just weird like that.

But I don't read, subscribe, or buy advertising from the Ledger and never will and it's like pulling teeth to get me to send an ad I designed for another paper to them when they need it. And sometimes, I may just be past their deadline….shame…get your Indian fuck buddies to build your advertising.

Want to support local business…buy some Boiled Peanuts or tomatoes from the dude who sells in front of the Shanty. His Cajun boiled peanuts are the shit.

Wow…my question still stands about the people selling the paper, but I did kind of just go off on the ledger…

Oh well…

Fuck the Enquirer.




And speaking of yard sales, Rand McNally can go eat a chocolate covered ball sack as well. The brilliant makers of most maps in America did a wonderful job of covering part of Columbus up with the damn legend (the part of the map that tells you what roads, trees, the little pink bunnies and shit means on the map for my more slow readers).

Sorry yard sale people in H2 quadrant of our lovely quick fold city map of Columbus, the legend fucked you out of my business this weekend. I bet you had some cool stuff to buy too and, well…forgive me.




***editors note: The red means I have covered it, the black X's means it is either not as blog worthy as I once thought or I forgot all the details to even enter it.


So I wonder if the person in public yelling into their cell phone "CAN YOU HEAR ME" realizes that the octave of their voice has nothing to do with whether the person on the other end can hear them or not. It's all because the four eyed fuck…



in front of their network tripped up and caused a 400 thousand four eyed fuck pile up behind him. He trips over a banana peel…



and everyone behind him falls down, utility vehicles crash, helicopters fall from the sky on fire, satellites come crashing down from the atmosphere and land on a little Chihuahua named Pedro in the back alley of a Mexican Abortion Clinic and your phone drops the signal. And you yelling louder makes no difference to all the chaos that just went down to make your conversation go static. So stop yelling, you look stupid. You know, like that person that walks through a spider web and no one sees the web, he just freaks the hell out.

Intermission: Saw a sign today for Chef Lee's Restaurant. It said, Top Ten in America, Again. Top ten what? Top ten shittiest places to eat? Top ten failed health inspection restaurants in the country? Top ten Asian places with Mexican cooks to get amoebic dysentery from?

Be more specific there Mr. Lee, sir. It will help the general public out and smart asses, like myself, will not have ammo.




That is all I am going to cover in this blog. The rest can be added to new items for the next round of rose smelling verbal blasts from yours truly. I do hope you enjoyed.

And as always, my favorite clip of the week….an oldie but goody.



And a quote from our sponsor…..

"We are unable to announce the weather. We depend on weather reports from the airport, which is closed, due to weather. Whether we will be able to give you a weather report tomorrow will depend on the weather."
Actual Arab News Report

 
 

****regardless of your desire to buy or not buy - please give me your feedback on this idea. Thanks***






Wierd Archives's comment below was a good suggestion. The gift certificate can be used towards artist proof prints from the site that range from $50 to $200 each depending on the size. No book or photo cd's yet.






Today I received one of many requests via email to provide a gift certificate for Christmas purchases.

Some people want to give a photo session or a body painting as a gift but know it won't be done in time for christmas (the actual session).

So after several requests I present the FleshandColor Gift Certificate.

You purchase it, you give it, they redeem it.

Simple.

It 's a good way to get a session for those who want a session but may not be ready before or on Christmas for personal reasons or my schedule restraints due to other bookings.

Ladies, you know when the man buys you that video game system or tool set.
You know, one of those "its for her but really for me" gifts.

Why not buy him a gift certificate to have some painted lingerie on?
Just tell him he would look sexy but if he's too shy you'll do it for him.

:)

How much?

I don't have set rates anymore since everything is so customizable.
I take a budget and I work with it. If your budget is $200 I will discuss what can be done for $200. If your budget is $2 Million, still the same, we discuss it.

You can buy enough to cover a whole session or it can be part of what they want.

You buy the certificate, give it as a gift, they contact me and we figure out what they can do and want to do. Some will get the certificate amount, some may wanna add to it and get something more elaborate.

It's all simple.

See my work in my albums or www.fleshandcolor.com


(you have to type it in witho​ut space​s,​ myspa​ce has me block​ed becau​se of the artis​tic nudes​ - click​ing it will take you to a myspa​ce spam page.​)

Download the certificate, print it, contact me for purchase and validation information.

*Gift certificates must be presented with a valid FNC issued only by me and are non-refundable.

As many of you know I went to Salon Visage in Knoxville, TN to do the body painting for their entries to the North American Hairdressing Awards.

My trip began as normal. I packed up all my shit. Gave some lovin, said good by to the misses and was headed down the road. I stopped at the gas station to fill up down the street and got my "crack in a bottle" to keep me awake for the 5 hour drive I was about to embark on.


A 5-hour drive should have been 4. Map quest is getting to be as dumb as a room full of retards trying to escape Chinese finger cuffs. But that is beside the point.

So I head North to Atlanta and I make my first pit stop after two hours of driving.

I get some gas and decide that I want some more "crack" a.k.a Coffee. And I go into a convenience store just outside of Atlanta before the exits get completely fucked up and you can still find an on-ramp.

I went into the store and I see some cool Halloween decorations and the young black female cashier still putting some up.

As I am trying to decide between some apple sour rings and some gummy bears (I said fuck it by the way and got both) I was over hearing the conversation between the cashier and two old black women.

Now race has little to do with this, I am only mentioning it so you can "hear" the old woman's voice when I describe what she was saying.

Try to imagine the old woman from Don't Be a Menace to South Central While Drinking Your Juice in the Hood



That was the voice....

And she was every bit as old...60+ years old. In her "Sunday best"

They could have been those two old women that ring your bell on a Saturday morning at 8 am. There are moments where I believe that Wile E. Coyote had the right idea with the dropping of the anvil onto someone. It's a shame it never worked out for him, but the idea is sound. I want an anvil that has 5,000lbs. stamped across the side of it to fall from nowhere when someone rings my doorbell at 8 a.m. and squash the shit right out of them, especially someone trying to push their religious or political beliefs in me or trying to sign me up for lawn service. That would make getting up at 8 a.m. on a Saturday worth it.

Cartoons used to be, but now they're all, just, educational, meaningful, full of morals and a bunch of shit that is replacing parenting. Remember when all that was left to the parents and cartoons were just good old-fashioned slapstick humor and violence....yeah...

Anyway, it was two women standing there speaking to the cashier. The cashier is looking at them like Oprah would look if you snatched a doughnut from her.

And here is the conversation.

Old woman: I don't know why I come in here. You know you're going to hell.

Cashier: Going to hell? Why? (this is all she says, everything else is the old woman and I)

Old woman: Devil worshiping holidays. Why you gotta be decorating for the Devil's holiday? Why can't you celebrate Jesus? I come in here and see all these spooks and devil stuff. You know you're going to hell right?

Old woman's friend: MMMMMHMMMMM

Old Woman: I bet you don't decorate for Christmas, but you decorate for this Halloween mess, the devil has a hold of you child.


Ok all that was paraphrased from memory, but trust me it is damn close to being word for word. Now I have blogged about this same situation before. This is actually my second time seeing this, however the only difference is the first time, I was kind of shy.

But over the years, with age, experience, the alignment of the planets, too much Coffee, a testosterone shift in my hormone output, Gamma ray exposure, whatever you want to call it....I became this:


Me: You are one ignorant old bat.

Old woman: Excuse me?

Me: No I won't.

Old Woman: She tried to speak but I got louder and refused to let her...

Me: I said you're an ignorant old bat. You come in this store and bother this woman behind the counter with some bullshit. And what's worse it's bullshit you don't even have a clue about. Halloween has nothing to do with being a Devils holiday by origin. Yeah there are some groups that take the holiday and apply it to their Devil worship but every holiday has that type of twist to it. The bottom line is that depending on where you look from Celtics to Pagans to Christians, it was never about the Devil. It was more about the believe of a day of where the line between the living and the dead was open and they could cross over, which is where one of the ideas of dressing up and decorating comes from, it was a way to scare off the evil spirits or blend in so they wouldn't harm you. But even better, with Christianity, since you are a God fearing Christian woman, Halloween, or All Hallows Eve was the day before All Saints Day (or All Hallows Day), which was a celebration of Saints and Martyrs.

***(I love Discovery and History Channel...sue me)***

This young woman will go to hell if she denies Jesus and does a bunch of bad shit and doesn't ask for forgiveness, the same as you, not because she is putting up some playful Halloween decorations.


**editors note, I understand that the "going to hell because of denying Jesus" statement, based on some beliefs makes this blog a contradiction to some of the readers and I can accept that.




So stop being an ignorant old woman and harassing someone who you don't know about a holiday you obviously have no fucking clue about.

And furthermore the fact that you just went off on this lady about going to hell over Halloween decorations while you and you friend are standing here wanting numbers for the lottery and playing scratch-offs not only makes you an ignorant old bat but a hypocrite as well. Gambling is a sin. Judge lest be judged.

Old woman: didn't really say anything, just one of those attitude "humph" sounds. And they walked out.

Cashier and the guy standing behind me were about to die laughing.

So now you know why I called an elderly woman and ignorant old bat....

I just wanted some Apple Sours and Gummie Bears....

I hate people sometimes....

*note this is an actual account, nothing made up....*

So I had a toothache last night. I've had it for a week now. I am waiting on dental appointment. But last night, it kicked into overdrive like, well words are hard to describe it.

But, if my toothache were a snail, it did this last night, creeping along for about a week at a tolerable snail pace and then...




There are pains I have endured that hurt like a big dumpster full of fucking with razor blade condoms. From cutting my leg, splitting my eye wide open to having a 1 and a 1/2 foot scar that had 58 staples holding me together from surgery just to name a few.

None of that comes close to to the constant shock wave of pain that radiated from my jaw through my head and down my left arm.

Sooooooooo, Lortab it was. Everyone has a private stash of something they save for real pain. They usually have to lie about having it so other's won't take it from them. I took more than one because alcohol and drugs always need some kind of steroid jerk to effect me.

I never dream. I mean I do, but I may remember one every 3 months. Which seems odd for an artist. But I can only say that perhaps it's because I have quite a bit of fucked up shit going through my head moment to moment that there is nothing left for a dream when I finally go to sleep.

But I remember my dream from last night. And it was short and odd.

I was sitting at a table with my arms crossed with my chin resting on my wrists, like a kid would sit at the table staring at a plate of cookies. My hat was turned backwards and I was staring into the face of Falcor (the white Dragon often mistaken for a dog and my white schnoodle from the Never Ending Story)




It was a staring contest...we were both not moving, not smiling, not doing anything but staring. There was no blinking and there wasn't anything on the table that we were competing over. I could hear some soft music in the background but couldn't make it out but it sounded like something off Silent Hill.....

Play to hear....just the beginning ukulele part looped over and over




We sat there, not blinking, not breathing, and the music played....

After a moment the bellhop from 4 Rooms walked up,



but it wasn't Tim Roth, it was Bill Cobsy from his Fat Albert Days with a half of a afro.



He was in the bellhop outfit from Four Rooms and he stood there watching us both with his hands behind his back.

The music still played...



Then all of a sudden Falco blinked and it happend so fast.....





but it was Falcors Head and it rolled off the table and hit the floor. Bill didn't walk away, he didn't show any emotion on his face. He slowly lifted his hand to his face and slid a pudding pop in his mouth and his eyes turned to me...


Then I woke up.


I feel much better today.