Stud Free Zone

Given my potato-truck style, even when wearing a tux I have never been mistaken for a suave James Bond with his rumple-free charms and oh so cool sweat-less n’ wet-less dry demeanor. Heck, even if I fake a British accent and don a dashing green ‘ensemb’ you can be INsured I still won’t strut enough stuff to make the swimsuit edition of Gecko’s Quarterly. Nope you’ll never catch me with a  “Pierced Brosnan” or any other body part since obviously studs and I don’t mix and I already have enough holes in my head.

I know closet space around here is at a premium to hang stuff up, but even with my oversized Dumbo ears as prime real-estate who needs more air vents adding to the wind noise and voices already beating on my brain? Clearly this new trend of unnecessarily perforating ones flesh-sack flaps is some kind of dental healthcare conspiracy. Call me provincial and CRESTfallen, but honestly I think these days it is ‘un-holey’ to encourage our youth to have more cavities and make them even larger.

I thought greasy teens in acne commercials are always complaining about having poor pock-marked complexions so why now are they so eager to add even more pores to it? I guess all that pent-up angst and Redbull-headed energy needs a few extra blowholes to ease societal pressures huh?  Forget cratering faces, today’s youth should VENT their passions and plaints like the rest of us do, by sticking pins in voodoo dolls, not using a Bedazzler to bang bling to their beans.

Sadly I’ll never be ‘cool’ by today’s standards since those drafty windows into my soul searching and self-realization are willingly painted shut. Yes by design the only ‘pokers’ and ’studs’ to cross my future path will  be confined to stoking a fire, building a wall, or an occasional game of cards. You see, unlike the young and dumb of today, thin-skinned old coots like myself know better than to abruptly punch pinholes in our hides without care – lest an ill-timed ‘whoopie’ leak might embarrass the air.