Win in the End

People like me. They really do. Not in the “I’m good enough, I’m smart enough, and dog-gone-it people like me” sort of way. After Stuart Saves His Family, it’s amazing that Al Franken was still able to become governor. Of course, Minnesota is kinda fucked up anyway. SNL-isms aside, people really do like me. Whether it’s my athletic prowess, my good-at-internets-skills, my beard, my rapists’ wit [?], or my tattoos, it’s something. Hmm… Maybe it’s ‘cause I’m Irish. There’s no cure for charm, ladies. Sorry ‘bout that. My connection to the great Emerald Isle not withstanding, if I had to pin it to any of the things listed above, I would peg the tattoos. That doesn’t mean that I want you pulling at my shirt to look at them. I don’t pull at your shirt to look at your boobies, do I? Hmm… I might be on to something here. I know I’ve mentioned that before and at somewhat extended length but it bears repeating.

Also, boobs are awesome. What? They are.

All that being said, my current collection of tattoos is only going to take me so far. I’m back in the very competitive East Nashville market now where hipsters rule. It’s like Brooklyn without the smell and it’s about one percent the size. So… uhh… not at all really. It is, however, filled with people that look and dress and like this. Strangely enough, a sweatband doesn’t mean to me what it means to them: “We use these as the backbone of a life spent defending something. You use them as a punchline!” Sorry if I slipped into Col Nathan Jessep territory for a moment there. It happens. I just want to let you all know how very intensely anti-hipster I am despite what my outfits would indicate. I dress like an idiot because I have no fashion sense; hipsters dress like idiots because they are idiots. There’s a very fine line of distinction between the two.

Part of the ever growing East Nashville hipster repartee to the fashion (and really whole social) world at large is the increasing number of ironical ironic tattoos. I have plenty of funny ones, sure. But all of mine are for things that I like:

• Do I really like The Big Lebowski that much? Yes.


• Do I really think I’m AWESOME? Yes.


• Do I really like cheeseburgers that much? You better believe it.

For several months now, I have talked about wanting to get a Teen Wolf tattoo. I haven’t figured out where and, since I’ve been short on cash and since Colby up and moved to Denver, I haven’t really had the opportunity to go get some sick ink, brah. There are few other movies that I have seen more often than that one. Interestingly, I have never owned it on DVD or VHS (taping it off of NBC 20 years ago doesn’t count, I don’t think). Christmas is just around the corner, dear readers.

Think of the hipster points! Scene points are dead, by the way. I’m back on the eastside and on to bigger and better things! I’m thinking of something along the lines of Scott Howard doing a handstand on top of the Wolfmobile. Don’t tell me that that wasn’t the coolest fucking thing you saw in 1985. I mean, chicks with glitter all over their faces would be clamoring for my attention! I’d even get a shirt that reads “What are you looking at, Dicknose?” just like Styles. I could even pretend I was in high school when in reality, I’m in my late twenties (barely) just like Jerry Levine did for that character. Talk about a perfect storm.

I’m looking forward to this greatly. I’m gonna skrimp and save my pennies to make this dream come true. I’m gonna win in the end. [Mark Saffin, you are a musical genius.]