The Ass Wars

No one knows how it started, just that one day it did, and now we all have
to live with the consequences.

Let me explain:

Near Port Authority on a certain strip of 8th Avenue, 

around the corner from a methadone clinic, 

wedged in between a flea pit hotel 

and an Ethiopian man selling bootleg CD mixes, 

stands a flame-like structure which attracts the moths in New York City, 

the rock moths who play in bands, 

and rents to them it's airless rooms. 

This is the place where dreams are made, 

myths take root, and legends are built. 

This place is called the Music Building.

In the dimly lit, smokey hallways, 

electric muffled sounds seep out from the walls 

to vibrate your solar plexus with bass frequencies, 

while you wait for the ancient, heavily repainted elevator. 

There is a section of wall covered in ads, postcards, and taped corners 

left over from old papers only partially ripped down.

One advertised for a band seeking new members. 

It read, "Drummer and bassist wanted." 

Late at night while no one was looking, 

an enterprising stoner with a pen 

made a slight, but significant alteration. 

Thanks to a couple of strategically placed X's, 

the sign was transformed. 

It read, "Bummer and assist wanted."

Of course, this meant war.

From that day, all signs seemed to be posted as a challenge 

to discover the amount of secret, hidden arrangements 

of the 3 letters A-S-S in sequence. 

The ads were defaced so quickly, 

it was as if you could see one guy taping a sign 

up on the wall and behind him formed a long line 

of giggling dudes holding pens.

The last sign I saw originally read: 

"Let's keep this place vermin free!!!! 

Please, please, please, please, please, 

if you eat food in the room,  

you must dispose of trash before you leave. 

This is not a hotel, there is no maid."

After the pen boys had their turn, it said:

"Let's keep this ass vermin free!

Ass, ass, ass, ass, ass, ass,

if you eat ass in the room, 

you must dispose of ass before you leave.

this is not a hotel, there is no maid."

I really meant to write a story about my motorcycle jacket, 

and all the fabulous rides I had while wearing it, 

but those stories have completely gone from my head.

Sorry to have gotten you here on false pretenses.

Bat Mitzvah Mermaid

I really should have known better.

Let me explain:

Once I was hired to body paint 13 year olds at a Bat Mitzvah party. A car came to pick me up and drove me out to someplace in New Jersey. I set up my paints on a little table and waited. One by one the girls came by, and I painted decorative flower or paisley arrangements on arms, shoulders and ankles. Some wanted matching bracelets with their friends.

Then some boys came by. "Don't you have something not so girly?" one of them asked. "Well, what would you like?" I replied, hoping for something not too complicated. "I want a mermaid," the boy said. What could be more natural, I thought, a 13 year old boy wants a big gnarly sailor tattoo of a mermaid. I complied and the boy went away happy.

In my innocence, I neglected to clothe the top portion of the mermaid in a fashionable clam-shell bikini top, and painted her as nature intended. Within minutes, I was surrounded by boisterous 13 year old boys, all wanting similarly clad adornments from my paintbrush. "I want a mermaid like he had, only I want mine with LEGS," one said. "So, in other words, you want a naked lady? Am I going to get into trouble for this?" I asked. "Oh no, not at all," they replied.

And so I painted away, trying to keep the hordes of excited boys at bay. Later that evening one of the parents stopped by. "Do you think you could possibly make the tattoos a little less graphic?" he politely whispered in my ear.

Uh oh.