Poseur Mail Part 1: Stretched Wide Butthurt

Stop mommy! I think you're stretching it.

It's safe to say that I missed a tremendous amount of things about writing for TNM during my extended absence. (Web groupies, etc.) Yet during those several quiet months of inactivity, there was but one thing that I longed to do more than anything else: Answer my hate mail. For the entirety of my hiatus, my fingers did nothing but itch furiously for the chance to type out some swift internet justice once again. It has indeed been a long time coming, but I am happy to announce, my fellow Defenders of the Faith, that time has arrived. Six months of unchecked, unspent, wildcat-level aggression pent up in my psyche, left to boil and fester; about to be unleashed in an atom bomb of face-melting, butt-hurt creating mayhem. For those of you who know, you already backed the fuck up and battened down the hatches. For those of you who don't: This is Poseur Mail Saturday. Nobody gets out alive.

So before we really kick things off, I'd like to ease the tension a bit with a simple multiple choice question. Just keep in mind that there's only one wrong answer:

Tell me, what exactly about the following comment makes the most sense to be upset about:

"Nice gauges, faggot."


Is it:

a.) The use of the word "faggot" in this example is incredibly homophobic and crude.
b.) The comment is ridiculing a person for their own personal sense of self expression.
c.) THERE NOT CALLED "GAUGES" DUMASS THERE CALLED "STRETCHED EARS", IF UR GUNNA MAKE FUN OF SOME1 U SHOULD DO THE RESERCH IF U DONT WANNA LOOK RETARDED. 

Reflect on those potential answers for a moment. In the meantime, I'm going to talk to you about something that happened during my absence regarding a post I wrote back in 2010...


So I'm fully aware of the fact, that even though there may be a time I am not actively updating this blog, that doesn't necessarily mean it goes anywhere. If I don't fail to re-register the domain, every word I have ever written and subsequently published for TNM is left permanently etched somewhere on the massive face of the internet. Unless I were to take steps to delete or edit said words, they maintain a constant presence in the world-wide-web; left there to be read, shared, and even commented on at any given time. When I look at it from such a perspective, it amazes me. To think, so long as I pay Google to host it, and so long as Google's Blogger remains an active service, the things I write here shall forever remain. There is one serious drawback to this however, and that's the fact that I'm left to defend every fucking word I've ever written since I started. 

Maybe it's just me, but when I want to write a comment on someone's web page, I first check and make sure that the subject is still fucking relevant. A lot of things can change in an entire year. People's opinions can be shifted, new facts can come to light, the subject at hand may no longer apply whatsoever. The date of every article I ever published hovers above said article in massive, bold, black print. It is literally the first thing you're going to read, even before the title. I couldn't hope to understand the mindset of these oblivious foreskin rubbers, who think it's well within their internet rights to write replies to a post that was written December of 2010, in November of 2011. There's like an unwritten statute of limitations on this shit. I don't feel liable for something I said two or three days ago, let alone one complete orbit around the fucking sun.

Granted, everything I said in my Gauges Violation still applies and will forever remain true... but that's beside the point.

Although I think it's starting to grow on me.

Now like I said, it's been a little while. I have completely forgotten, if I had ever known, where the source of this backlash originated. I'm going to assume that one of you trollish types saw it fit to drop a link to my article smack dab in the middle of some body modification, or A Day To Remember fan forum, to purposely initiate a severely negative response. If this be the case, to whomever responsible, I find your actions and your intentions to be highly commendable. Better late than never when it comes to internet venom, I suppose. Regardless of it being well past its date of prime potency, that shit will always sting.

Speaking of late venom, here's some members of said Amazonian tribe putting me in my place a year after-the-fact for knocking on their Grandpa Scare-Wear. I think it's time to give them a bitter aftertaste of their own late-to-the-game medicine.

See if you can spot the pattern:

Wow. What's it called again? I think I misheard you cuntards the first seven times. (We'll get to lucky number seven in a moment.) If all you parrots had the exact same shit to say, you think maybe your little scenester village could have agreed on sending just one intermediary to tell me what for? Better yet, could any of you idiot savants of body jewelry be bothered to look at the last comment before you, just to make sure that literally the exact same thing you were about to spend a good chunk of your precious mirror photo-taking time saying to me, wasn't already said four times prior? 

So yeah, I'll fess up: color me ignorant in regards to the complex world of digging ugly holes all around a person's face. I guess if I'm not a total expert, I have no right whatsoever to speak on a subject. The brash audacity of me to be calling it the wrong thing this entire time! I mean, where the fuck would I even come up with such terminology? Where would I get such an idea? I must have just completely made it up on my own:

Courtesy of www.howtostretchyourears.com. 
But don't go there, they don't know what they're talking about.

But you know what? I'm going to take this obnoxious semantics debate a step further. It's not called ear stretching. No it's not. You are fucking wrong. Even if it's "technically correct" by creepy, handsy, tattoo artist standards, I refuse to accept that term, or ever use it. Focus the big holes in your ears put there by nature for listening, as opposed to the ones put there by you for creeping out old people, and walk away with this piece of mind:

I will never let you attention-seeking, parent shaming, teenage-brained, products of a misused condom have the word "stretching". That is not your fucking word. I stand before all of you as the last known defender of the English language. Perhaps I misuse her with my sub-par grammatical skills, and admittedly limited vocabulary. At least I'm not some sadistic rapist bent on destroying what little innocence she has left. Now for a reason that's seemingly unrelated, take a look at this child making a silly face:

Remember it well, because this is what your defeat looks like.

What is "technically" happening to his ears right now? Give up? They're being stretched. He is grasping his ears with his fingers, pulling them outward, and the natural elasticity of the human ear is allowing him to stretch them temporarily into a different shape. I don't know about you, but I don't see any tunnels or hockey pucks. I also don't hear any fucking Motionless In White playing. Score one for me. You are not allowed to call it "ear stretching", because that is too general a term to be used for something that is an obnoxiously specific act.

Also, let's just admit this much: wrong or not, "gauging" actually sounds cooler. It's like I'm almost helping you misfits out here. Who gives a shit if it's technically the "wrong terminology"? Haven't you dipshits ever heard of a "misnomer"? Misnomers are not only incredibly common, but generally accepted by every member of society who people want to be around. Try and figure out what that feels like for once. Believe it or not, I have heard people call the Australian marsupial a koala "bear", without feeling the insane urge to mastur-hate all over their faces for it. If I can accomplish as much in that regard, you can let it slide when someone calls them "gauges". 

Either that, or we can just all agree to call it what it really is: Making yourself look douchetarded.

Thanks Chad, after we're finished with this koi covered in flowers, remind me to schedule that appointment with you to get my ears douchetarded next Tuesday!  No, don't worry, I don't have work. LOL!

So I think what you really meant to say sweetheart, is that you have not one, not two, not three, but zero respectable jobs. You sell Blood on The Dancefloor t-shirts, you assist an organization that sells religious propaganda to people, and in your spare time, you brainwash little kids with the holy word of "the Lord". You're perfect for the latter job, I must admit. You've got this young, hip, and edgy image going with your gauges and crayon colored hair, so you can appeal to the rebellious nature of America's youth and make them think you're on their side. Meanwhile, you nonchalantly feed them lies. That's quite the résumé. I should also let you guys know that Amanda was nice enough to link me to her Tumblr when leaving this comment. I'm not going to tell you outright to go say hello and give her your regards. That would be rude of me. While casually looking through the blog she invited me to check out, I stumbled upon the fact that she'll be getting married this May at the perfectly capable and ready age of 19 in front of her face-palming father. Congratulations, Amanda! 

To getting divorced in two years!

The fact that you have three not-really-respectable jobs with minimal pay (if any), does very little to convince me that the way you made yourself look isn't a factor in terms of your "success". Also, it's going to do you a lot of good to find out sooner rather than later: that's not how discrimination laws work. Once you get your hands on the employee handbook of an organization other than Hot Topic, you'll find out that we're not talking about age, race, color, sexual orientation, gender, gender identity, religion, national origin or disability, which are all protected by law, but something completely unrelated, known as dress code. While it probably requires some form of mental disability to consider getting it done, it's still an accessory you made the sound choice to get on your own. That's not on corporate America to deal with, that's on you. If you don't adhere to a dress code, it is within the rights of every company in America to fire you, or not hire you in the first place. Deal with it.

Now there's an inspirational quote for the ages:

"If you work hard you can still acheive anything. that is of course if you dont come into contact with narror minded pricks"

- Anonymous

A thing of pure beauty, Anon, if I do say so myself. Almost as gripping as your rebuttal to how I stated that "stretched ears" only came from "Africa". What was your first example of an ear gauging custom that took place outside of Africa, again? Oh, that's right, it was Egypt. I'm embarrassed to admit that I forgot which world continent Egypt was part of. If you could go check on a world map for me in your spare time and refresh my memory, it would be greatly appreciated.

Forgive me if I'm wrong, and it seems to me like that's happening a lot in this particular case, but I believe I began my article with the phrase "Straight out of the Amazon..." It's already apparent that I'm a bit rusty when it comes to my grade school geography, but could you remind me again which part of Africa the Amazon is located?

Never mind, I found it. 

All jabs aside, I think this has been all-in-all, a valuable learning experience for me. No matter how you look at it, it really is just my own personal opinion to detest ear gauging. In the future, I know now it's best to keep these hurtful things to myself. Especially if I don't have a concrete understanding of the terminology and the cultural significance behind it all. Before today, I used to believe that mutilating your ears in such a fashion would most certainly be career suicide. However, young Amanda and Anonymous have proven the exact opposite to be true. Indeed, gauges or no gauges, if you work hard enough and walk the straight and narrow, you can be anything you want to be in life. Even if that anything is a manager at Hot Topic or Home Depot. 

Shoot for the stars, kids.

Tune in next time for Part 2: All Reading Comprehension Shall Perish. Coming soon!