Tattoos
Thank you Communist Party and the People’s Republic of China for yesterday’s holiday. They may be murderous totalitarian bustards but at least I got a lie-in.
Breakfast at the Wanchai Flying Pan with Curly’s best friend and famille. I don’t “get” grits – colourless and flavourless, they are the opposite of their name. I only order them in honour of a decent joke about grits in My Cousin Vinny: “You’re telling me the laws of physics are suspended on the top of your stove?”
Also learned yesterday that a chicken fried steak is not in fact made out of chicken.
And found out about an American invention called the chili slice, which is a burger with a can of chili poured on top of it.
Ah, the wonderful native cuisine of the Americas!
The car is up the spout. I’m beginning to think that automatic transmissions don’t like being bathed in fog for 4 months out of every year. This never used to happen with the good old Proton Wira in KL, although admittedly its engine did have the disconcerting habit of cutting out if you braked too abruptly when approaching a traffic light.
Had to take a taxi down to the HKFC where the kids had their inaugural HK swim of 2007. Feeling nostalgic for Asia already and videoed them romping in the waves. Also enjoyed the sight of a lovely Latin-looking bloke doing the crawl up and down the pool. He had a tattoo – one of those ones that goes around your upper arm like a bracelet. Now, oddly enough, that very day we had been looking at photos of clients outside Jimmy Tattoo’s tattoo parlour adjacent to the Flying Pan (with a name like that, Jimmy’s choice of occupation was pretty much preordained I think) and I had been roundly slagging off those specific designs (“Hideous. Hideous. Hideous.”) and the concept of tattooing in general, whilst formulating a rule of thumb regarding the inverse relationship between the attractiveness of one of these IQ-challenged dunderheads and their tattoo coverage. Now, after the evening’s viewing pleasures a la piscina, I think I’d have to say that it’s really more of a guideline than a rule.
Breakfast at the Wanchai Flying Pan with Curly’s best friend and famille. I don’t “get” grits – colourless and flavourless, they are the opposite of their name. I only order them in honour of a decent joke about grits in My Cousin Vinny: “You’re telling me the laws of physics are suspended on the top of your stove?”
Also learned yesterday that a chicken fried steak is not in fact made out of chicken.
And found out about an American invention called the chili slice, which is a burger with a can of chili poured on top of it.
Ah, the wonderful native cuisine of the Americas!
The car is up the spout. I’m beginning to think that automatic transmissions don’t like being bathed in fog for 4 months out of every year. This never used to happen with the good old Proton Wira in KL, although admittedly its engine did have the disconcerting habit of cutting out if you braked too abruptly when approaching a traffic light.
Had to take a taxi down to the HKFC where the kids had their inaugural HK swim of 2007. Feeling nostalgic for Asia already and videoed them romping in the waves. Also enjoyed the sight of a lovely Latin-looking bloke doing the crawl up and down the pool. He had a tattoo – one of those ones that goes around your upper arm like a bracelet. Now, oddly enough, that very day we had been looking at photos of clients outside Jimmy Tattoo’s tattoo parlour adjacent to the Flying Pan (with a name like that, Jimmy’s choice of occupation was pretty much preordained I think) and I had been roundly slagging off those specific designs (“Hideous. Hideous. Hideous.”) and the concept of tattooing in general, whilst formulating a rule of thumb regarding the inverse relationship between the attractiveness of one of these IQ-challenged dunderheads and their tattoo coverage. Now, after the evening’s viewing pleasures a la piscina, I think I’d have to say that it’s really more of a guideline than a rule.
posted by FBT at 9:50 am
12 Comments:
I have a nice tattoo. I hope it isn't a negative reflection of my IQ. Although admittedly it's only the outline. I was too much of a pansy to get it filled in.
of course I don't mean you, DG. Your IQ is undisputed. My new rule in relation to tattoos is: if you are attractive, they make you more attractive. If you are unattractive, they make you more unattractive. They are the MSG of body-decoration.
I don't have a tattoo.
I am very, very clever so I think your first theory must be correct.
Troika, you should get yourself a modest tattoo and see if it makes you even hotter.
Shhh Troika! She has a perfectly good theory going here that doesn't exclude your intellect.
I'll get 'HUNG' on my forehead.
If anything's going to get me laid, that will.
Just to avoid anything getting lost in translation, Mr. T, I think you should also include the words ..."like a ckufing horse".
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And to remove any further doubt, Mr. T, perhaps you should add, in brackets, "and I don't mean a Shetland, either".
Cheers for the advice, Fumie.
Luckily I have a head the size of a planet so there should be no problem at all.
We could all go out together.
I'll have 'Hung' on my forehead, Fumie can have 'Wang' and Phiz can have 'Au'.
They may be murderous totalitarian bustards but at least I got a lie-in.
The buddah himself couldn't have said it better...
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