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I’ve always said, when in doubt, punch a hole in yourself. That’s fine, but I think the piercing people are missing a good bet. Vital organs. I mean, skin is one thing. That’s easy. But how about getting your lungs or kidneys
K pierced? Why not some lovely diamond studs all over the surface of your liver? Or a couple of nice 18-karat gold rings hanging from your thyroid gland?

Brain Droppings
    But, you know, stuff like this might not be dangerous enough for today’s happenin’ people. What’s really gonna be great is when the ozone layer is completely gone, and
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everyone has melanomas. Then you’ll start to see “fashion skin cancer.” It’ll probably start in Malibu. People will use their skin cancers to form little designs. Since it’s Malibu, a lot of them will do their zodiac sign. Of course, if your sign is Cancer, you’ll be in real good shape.
    I believe skin cancer will eventually become part of every American’s fashion arsenal. “That’s a lovely growth, i Bambi. Twenty millimeters and right between your eyes. God, I’m so jealous!”
    Before I leave this subject, I have two more ideas for the truly avant garde: How about living small, live mammals medically grafted onto your skin? Wouldn’t you like to have a prairie dog living in the middle of your chest, sharing your blood supply? How about an adult male Norwegian rat sewn onto the top of your head, keeping an eye on everything?
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    I think we also might take a page from Africa’s book and get into deliberate scarring. Not ritual scars that form coherent designs. Random scarring! Let a bunch of drunks with swords inflict hundreds of small, deep cuts on your skin. Or have a friend throw boiling grease all over you, then sit back and see what develops.
    I don’t believe the body-decorating trend has reached its peak yet, and as it does, I shall try to be at the forefront, always pointing America toward the hot new look.
    m glad sunscreen has been shown to be associated with more skin :r rather than less. It’s not in the mainstream media yet, but the st jump in skin cancer has occurred since the advent of sunscreens, kind of thing makes me happy. The fact that people, in pursuit of a ?ficial look of health, give themselves a fatal disease. I love it when oning” human beings think they have figured out how to beat thing and it comes right back and kicks them in the nuts. God bless aw of unintended consequences. And the irony is impressive: :hy people, trying to look healthier, make themselves sick. Good!
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    And then when you get there, no one cares at all. No one even tries to read the writing. And all the other guys turn out to be dorks who will wear any piece of shit that’s handed to them. Like “Property of Alcatraz,” “No Fear,” “Gold’s Gym,” and “Life Is a Beach.” What a letdown.
    Personally I haven’t worn T-shirts with writing on them for about ten years, but I do own what I consider to be the coolest T-shirt in the world. It’s plain white, and inside a kind of faded maroon circle, in an odd, feminine sort of print, it says, “Fuck the Cows.” But it’s about two sizes too small. Ain’t that always the way?
    finally escaped what I think of as the “Coolest T-shirt Trap.” I real-that no matter how cool I think my T-shirt is, no one else is gonna i so, because everybody thinks they have the coolest T-shirt, rhere are times when you take fifteen minutes to pick out which
    to wear, because you’re going to a place where there’ll be a :h of guys you’ve never met; guys you might even secretly want apress. So you settle on that special black, limited-edition num-that your brother brought back from the Middle East. The one
shows Saddam Hussein peeking out of a garbage can, flashing niddle finger and saying, “Ha ha, Mister Bush, you missed me. I
here at home all the time.” And you think, “No one has ever . a shirt like this; this will make them jealous. They’ll all want