Tattoos are for girls.

Having accumulated enough visible scars, mostly from racing sailboats, motorcycles and other such sports, my flesh is scarred enough for conversation. I loathe tattoos. So phony! Like false advertising, but permanent. I don't mind decorating my hands and sometimes my forearms or face, with henna on holidays at the family farm in Rajasthan, but it's celebratory and washes off. The two teardrop tattoos near my eye I had removed due to an ordeal best forgotten. Still, I get noticed by people I'd rather not want to socialize with. Seriously, tattoos are for women, real men seek to be branded, inconspicuously, with fire.

-dp- 

3-30-25

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Sorry, no lawn party

 >> Sorry, no lawn party

Well, that went better than expected. Pretty much normal! At least as well as my phone could show.  I couldn't find Donald the Dip lurking out front on his lawn chair-- directing crowd control and ordering hits from the grassy knoll.

I wonder if he just stayed at home, watching TV, making 'X'-lists with Elon, planning whose lives to ruin? Can't you just see them there, gloating and bloating with some hired lap dancer?

Meanwhile, Melania is out shopping for inaugural nighties.  She has four years of spending nights out ahead of her.  Out behind Mar-Lard-Go, the kids are pulling Croquet stakes from the swamp to move to the South Lawn.  

Oh, please don't get me started!  Thank goodness for a peaceful transition.  Did I see Kamala wipe a tear during that last round of applause?  Perhaps remembering Pence?

- W. Reyn Coda