Wednesday, September 04, 2024

DON'T SHOW ME YOUR TATTOO

In the middle of a conversation about plastic to-go buckets such as soups, congee, tapioca and taro pudding, and sauces come in -- they are recyclable, sometimes they discolour, and they reproduce like mad -- Russell told me about a restaurant at Fourth and Geary where if I'm in the area I really should go eat. Very good! The conversation had touched upon steak, spaghetti, Hong Kong food, sago, and Italian food made by Cantonese line cooks.
And the Veterans Medical Facility to which all three of them go.
Russell more than the other two, because he's still recovering from pneumonia.
Which is slow when you're around ninety.


I am unlikely to be in that area. I regard most of the city as Viet Cong territory, where they attack you from the tall grass in which they're hiding. Those tattooed pudgy people of slovenly appearance who never wear masks gorhelpus.
It's very white out there.


There's a slangy Dutch term that applies to many Americans: Buikaert.
Someone with guts. Pudgy wudgy floobily woobily guts.
What fatty snacks and indolence create.


I'm sorry, I'm being mean. I should demonstrate understanding. There are important nutrients in potato chips and fried chicken! And ignore all those ugly tattoos. They mean something!
Hot weather brings out the worst in me. And in society. I find it hard to move (circulatory issues), and society feels the need to swan about showing unseemely amounts of flesh.
And dammit, why do so many people have tattoos?
What were y'all thinking?
Vulgarians!


Tattoo ink has been found to include carcinogenic substances like polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons, primary aromatic amines, and metals. And further, tattoos are linked to an increased risk of malignant lymphomas. Which means a greater chance of very many meaningful creative and unique spiritual beings dying far younger than they should.

Not that there's anything wrong with that.



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