[From the now-dead C-petal; 2002-Jun-03]

So I spent $76 in the poster shop after going to the gym, where I had thoroughly enjoyed the "beefcake window shopping" fringe benefits. Manly lunkheads with muscle-laden arms that probably make for a real difficult and dismal ass-wiping (though only their tighty-whiteys would know for sure). They wear ripped up tank tops to show off their tattoos, which are [-=BIG SURPRISE!=-] either tribal armbands or Asian symbols.

A Korean girl I know, Carol, once accosted a guy with an Asian symbol tatoo...

Carol: Oh my GOD--why did you get that tattooed on you?!

Guy: Huh? It's Chinese for "Strength."

Carol: NO it's not, it means PENIS!!

[Guy proceeds to flail arms angrily and declare unyielding physical punishment on his tattoo's artist]

Carol: ...I'm just joking, I don't even know what that says.

[Exeunt]

But I like watching them strut, grunt, sweat, pat each other on their backs (while probably wishing it were glutei maximi they were touching). Allow me to be dreadfully honest when I say my attraction to aging dudes with buzzcuts is frothing and pulsing with ga ga. I know they have lesser IQs, skewed self images, and emotional capacities of sieves. Can't help it. It's an affliction that started last year and hasn't gone away; nay, it's alive and kicking. *whoo whooo* All Aboard for Knot's Asshole Express Dating Train.

Anyway, the posters I got were:

• Superman (for in the kitchen, Betty Page's counterpart)

• 40's Dr. Jekyl & Mr. Hyde movie poster

• 50's It Came From Outer Space movie poster

• B&W icon of a 'ladies restroom' sign, except the skirted figure has 2 horns on her head and it's red where it should be white

While waiting for the nice teenage counter boy to mount my... posters in their frames, I flipped through a catalog of orderable prints and came upon a section devoted to Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood artwork. Like many famous murderers (Lee Harvey Oswald, John Wayne Gayce, Tommy Lynn Sells), PRB artists like to use all 3 parts of their names (Dante Gabriel Rossetti, John Everett Millais, William Holman Hunt). If you're not familiar with PRB artwork, just imagine long flowing material draped over damsels who are lying in water and holding flowers whilst daydreaming of knights.

Ah Rapunzel, Rapunzel,...let down thy hair...

In fact, looking at PRB artwork gives you the sense that these fruitbags would've sacrificed their left testicles for a lock of hair from their beloveds' sweet heads. Can't you see them with joyful tears in their eyes, as they cherish the delicate lock to their cheek, whisking it gently to and fro?

Ode to a Lock of Lovely Hair!

I shall tie thee with a ribbon of velvet

and keep thee close to my breast

always to feel in secrecy

always to tickle my dreams as I rest.

Whatever. Which made me think of a funny.

I imagined myself in Victorian England with a dandy foppish suitor on bended knee (his foufy lacey poofy shirt flowing in a summer's breeze), asking for a lock of my hair. To which I'd reply with yanking out one strand and swirling it in his outstretched palm. Then I'd trounce off and give not a second thought to the growing look of distaste on his face. A lock of hair is so romantic and lovely--but no one likes a strand.

Because it's gross.