When I was a kid, my mom traveled a lot for her job. She’d bring me back various crap from her destinations and as such, I became something of a collector. Smurfs. Oh, I used to own some smurfs, boy. Let me tell you. For those of you who are too young to remember, the smurfs were little blue figments of Gargamel’s imagination that dressed like Dutch painters on their break, lived in mushrooms and were, supposedly, according to Gargamel, delicious and also a key ingredient in making gold.
Now, that explanation obviously begs the question, ‘well then, who the fuck is gargamel?’ That, my friends is not so easy to address. Who indeed was gargamel? Old wizard? Reclusive shut in? Toby Jeg in the future? All of these answers hint at the character of the man who tormented the smurfs, but none really, concisely drum up the appropriate image. Okay, he’s an old, bald grump of an asshole who wears a brown bag and talks to his cat. He also sees tiny blue things everywhere which he’s constantly trying to capture (for gold and/or food, as we discussed earlier) and that’s probably a bit of a circular narrative, because no one that chases blue mushroom dwellers around and constantly screams at his cat about being foiled is gonna be able to get audience with too many good homies that aren’t feline, if you dig. And THAT perverse loneliness has to be exactly what probably manifests itself in Gargamel’s hallucinogenically induced rages. I mean, right? Sure.
Okay, so that’s that. We’re not gonna figure everything out about gargamel today, and that’s fine. Back to the point.
The other thing my mom would bring me was mesh hats. She worked in the agricultural industry and the style of the time was to put your logo for your saw and blade company, or your cotton concern or your slaughterhouse on a mesh hat. I have about a zillion mesh hats and I love them.
Now, Ashton Kutcher came along and kind of fucked up the mesh hat for a while. So did Britney spears and paris Hilton and everyone. Now, you can’t go into a dumb dance club/fern bar/dildo emporium without seeing some choach in a party shirt and a rhinestone studded mesh hat.
They started calling them ‘trucker hats’ which is irritating to me for reasons to nebulous to explain here and well, they generally reduced my awesome, twenty-years-in-the-making collection of hats to a pile of garbage.
It’s okay though. Because now that whole trend is kind of gone, and I could maybe start wearing those hats again if I wanted to, BUT there’s nothing stupider looking than a grown man in a mesh hat. Between the ages of about 28 and 65 you really shouldn’t be wearing that shit. You probably shouldn’t be talking about smurfs either, I guess. It’s kind of, uh…windowless van at the playground style, innit?
Okay, so, those are a few of the things I used to collect. I also collected license plates and uh..what else? Records and cds and tapes. And comics. I used to collect some comics, man. I have x men number twelve. I’ve got all the original odd sized first printings of all the tick comics. I have all the orginial Akiras. And yet, I’ve still managed to have sex with a human woman (of legal age!). Not bad for a smurf collecting, trucker hat wearing comic enthusiast, right? Am I right folks?
Look, I’m just putting off the inevitable discussion of how John Mayer has descended so deeply into horrible dildodom. It’s becoming impossible to ignore. No, actually, he’s symptomatic of a bigger issue, namely that these celebrities and their dumb relationships are swamping the fucking news and the discussion about John Mayer beating off and checking out buttholes before he gets around to making coffee is just…well, why is there a forum for that kind of thing? Eh? Because he used to pump Jen? Is that all you need now? I know he’s hugely popular and man, I can’t really figure out why. I guess he was kind of funny before he became all sweet on himself, but that music…really? That’s popular? That’s like the shit that the nerd with the Stratocaster in your highschool gets on stage and plays at the talent show, bro. That’s not hugely popular, revenue generating music, is it? That shit’s Dave Matthews without the commitment to genre, which is essentially the Dead filtered through the terrible musical ideas of the nineties and with their dusty balls removed and replaced with violins and dreadlocks. All those bands and musicians make the music that moms put on before masturbating. And that, friends, is not cool. AND!!!! I’m not talking hot moms here. I’m talking YOUR moms. Yup.
No, I’m not a fan of John Mayer, or the Dead or Dave Matthews for that matter. And I really, really don’t care who he bangs or what his favorite body part to beat off to is or when he does it (spoiler alert-it’s assholes and first thing in the morning.)
Oh, and I guess brad pitt is single again, eh? Who fucking cares. Christ. Get me off this dumb ride. I’d rather chase smurfs for fucks sake. At least you can maybe get some gold out of the whole thing. Right?
Fuck this. I’m out.