GOODNIGHT, FUCKERS #223: JOWLS

I pride myself on very few things, but the one I hold in the second highest regard is my ability to have a story for just about anything. Name a topic, and I've got something for you. Granted, it might take me a moment to shuffle through my brain. There's a lot of alcohol up there. But there's always something. I feel like Kup from the Transformers sometimes. I'm not an old war beast, but I've been around the block. I've been around most of the blocks. Something always reminds me of something else.


Recently Bradley Sands, the author of the great RICO SLADE WILL FUCKING KILL YOU, commented on one of my GF posts that I should write about jowls. That threw me for a loop. Off the top of my head I couldn't think of a single instance where jowls specifically came up in my life. But I like a challenge, and I thought about it for a long time. I thought maybe I'd write a humorous piece about jowls and my appreciation of them (especially on Mitch McConnell, who for some reason reminds me of this guy). Or maybe I'd talk about how my jowls are starting to make themselves known, and how I remember having a clearly defined jawline. I don't know. That sounded kind of like cheating.


And then it hit me. It usually does. If I'm having trouble with something, I put it on the back-burner. Let it simmer. It usually works itself out, usually just in time. Today, as I was driving through an area I used to hang out in (but no longer do), I came upon a house I used to be in on a regular basis.


Rob Tannahill, my fellow creator on THE COCAINE! BROS. and current jailbird, has a habit of getting into friendships with a group of people and dragging me into it. Then he does something that gets the group to despise him, and he starts all over again with other people. Most times I don't like anyone in that group of friends. They're not people I want in my life on a long term basis. But I'll give him this: he always found him some fucking characters to hang out with.


One of these guys lived in the aforementioned home. He was one in a group of Satanists. No, not the animal sacrificers. I mean the real ones. Their favorite thing to do? Go to Denny's so they can smoke, drink coffee and play Magic, the Gathering. I've never cared for Magic, but that's what they did, so that's what I did. It was fun.


This guy once told me a story about how a friend of his was doing anal with his girlfriend, and she farted when he came. As a result something broke inside of him. Whenever he pissed, he came. Whenever he came, he pissed. It doesn't sound very likely, but I humored him.


He was a skinny motherfucker. He also looked a lot older than he was. When I saw him I figured him for 35. He told me he was 22. I couldn't believe it, and when I questioned him on it he said that it was easy to explain. "I used to be a fat ass. I weighed 300. No shit."


I couldn't believe it. He was so skinny I could have grabbed him around the waist with one hand and have my fingers touch my wrist.


"I'll prove it," he said. "Check it out."


With both hands he grabbed each side of his jawline and pulled down. I was surprised by the elasticity of his skin. He pulled down nearly all of his face. He had so much loose skin I thought maybe he'd been wearing a mask the whole time I'd known him. I'm not kidding when I say that I could have grabbed those jowls and wrapped my entire fists in them. I have very thick hands. I wouldn't be showing off a single finger.


He didn't look like he had jowls, but holy fuck. They were the biggest I've ever seen. If he'd pulled up instead of down he would have covered his face up to his eyes. It's fucking crazy.


When I was in high school I weighed 245 lbs. When I saw my graduation video I looked like Chris Farley. I found that unacceptable, so I got myself down to 205. I ran into some horrible setbacks (in particular a romance that went wrong very badly), and I rocketed up to 305. I found my way and cut back down to 215, but then another horrible romance drove me up to 270. I'm down to 250 now. But no matter how much weight I lose there is one fact that always remains: you will have loose skin.


That dude had so much loose skin it didn't look human. I don't know how he managed to make it look like nothing. If I stretched it out from his face, I could probably cradle a baby in there.


So yeah. Jowls. If you have any further suggestions let me know. I'm confident that I can find something about anything in the rotten, booze-soaked folds of my brain. I consider it a challenge. I love a challenge. Hit me with your best.

HEY FUCKERS #15: SURREPTITIOUS READING

From Lamebook

I love Lamebook, but at the same time, I'm glad no one I know has been posted there. I think that shows I have great taste in friends. Anyway, I was hanging around Lamebook when I found this post of a guy who just couldn't wait to get home to watch some porn. He thought he was being clever by turning his device away from everyone, not realizing that the window would show the reflection of what he's watching. I thought, "What a stupid thing to do. Just wait until you're in the privacy of your own home before you watch people fucking." And then I realized that I was kinda-sorta guilty of the same thing back in November.


I'd gone out to Vegas to visit my father, step-mom, sister and brother, and since it's a long flight, I brought plenty of reading material to keep me sane. The perfect reading material for a flight? Bizarro fiction. The books tend to be short, and they always tend to be interesting, so I can usually knock out a couple of them on the way out and a few more on the way back.


This time, I had brought Carlton Mellick III's THE BABY JESUS BUTT PLUG. I have no problem with reading nasty, crazy books in public. I proudly read RICO SLADE WILL FUCKING KILL YOU by Bradley Sands with the cover facing the entire world, so I figured tBJBP wouldn't be a problem. And then I discovered that there were illustrations in the book. Very questionable illustrations. I have no problem with them, of course, but the people who had to sit next to me? I kind of worried about them. The thought of being jailed for public indecency got to me, and while I read the book, I covered the illustrations with my hand if they were on the right side of the page (I was at the window seat on the left side of the plane). If they were on the left side, I turned the book slightly, so they wouldn't be able to see. (And I closed the blind to the window to avoid any reflection.)


I loved the book, and I discovered something odd about the people sitting next to me: THEY DIDN'T GIVE A SHIT ABOUT ME. They never even glanced in my direction because they were too involved in their own boredom-killing attempts. I was paranoid for nothing. Even now, as I write this months later, I don't even remember their faces, and I'm sure they haven't given me a second thought since getting off the plane.


So fuck it. Next time I'm on a plane, I'm going to watch A SERBIAN FILM.