Truth is I’m not a Barbie dealer or even a guy from Seattle interested in Barbie dolls. I just wrote those other entries to take the piss out of something. It’s been a long time since I rock and rolled, since I had the pleasure of pissing anybody off.  For want of a better expression, I’m a washed up punk singer from a band called Lorne Green’s Wet Nipple. The highlight of our lowlife career was touring five cities across Canada in ’87. Towns really. I haven’t done anything of significance since and I thought I’d start a blog to piss some people off. To do a little bit of good old-fashioned shit-disturbing.

   Where have all the punk-rock blogs gone ?

   So I’m going to write something everyday on this blog to rile the shit out of somebody. If you’re not irked yet, you can complain below.

   So here’ s a story that I hope pisses you off. Everybody’s trying to wipe your ass and make you happy. How about some rancor for a change ? How about a disgusting story about the futility of curiosity ?





    The Explorer slashed his way with a machete through the last strands of jungle to emerge within a small clearing of huts and villagers. The women and children of the village ran into their dung-caked abodes but the men stood their ground. The Explorer laid his machete down to show his peaceful intentions and he raised his empty and filthy hands in the air. At the sight of his hands the male villagers howled in horror. The Explorer was unnerved but he kept his hands in the air. As the villagers approached him he noticed that their fingernails had grown to twice the size of their hands. Some of the fingernails twirled together into single sharp points making a kind of spear-end and other fingernails came together into something that resembled tools. One man’s fingernails, from his left and right hands, grew together to make a bowl that he held at his belly. He was pushed by the others into standing in front of the Explorer first.

    At first, communication, a jumble of gestures and sounds, was slow and pointless but after a couple hours intentions seemed to be clear. The Explorer was from another world well beyond the reaches of the jungle and he was in search of the world’s wonders. The villagers knew of other tribes and cultures and continents but they were content to live out their lives in this quiet corner of the jungle. They lived an idyllic existence of hunting and eating and finding clever uses for their strange fingernail formations. The man with the bowl-shaped fingernails sometimes fed people soup from the coagulated shell forever held between his hands but sometimes he pretended it was a hat to the amusement of the children in the village. The Explorer was charmed at the open-minded nature of such primitive people and he decided to stay for as many months as he could.

   One day on the edge of village, as the Explorer was doing his morning ablutions outside his tent, he happened to notice the extreme length of his fingernails. I’ve been surrounded by such eccentric fingernail formations that I’ve forget about the hygiene of my own, he said to himself. (For in the absence of speakers of your tongue, it’s comforting to hear your language even, if only, from your own lips.) The Explorer pulled out a pair of fingernail clippers from the inside pocket of his rucksack.

     He took the clippers and cut the excess from his index finger but stopped at the sound of a shriek.

     He looked up and saw the backs of three children running out from behind a small bush. They ran into the collection of dung-caked huts where everyone was slowly emerging from sleep.

     “You have offended us deeply with your act of sacrilege. The great hand in the sky has provided us with wonder and you discard it from your body as if it were excrement,” the elder shouted at the Explorer who was forced to the ground by the pointy ends of his extra sharp fingernails. “There is but one punishment in our village.”

     From the other end of the village a giant fingernail clipper was rolled out from beneath a canopy of shrubs and vines. It was the size two canons. The Explorer’s head was placed into the open end and children lined up at the other. One after another, they all stepped onto the end as the Explorer’s head was clipped from his body in an excruciating exercise in patience and cruelty.

    And nobody dreamed of clipping their nails in the village for the rest of their happy days