In certain cultures a man with body hair equals DEAD SEXY...

Ok, ok, ok, ok... I know I am woefully behind on my music and movie reviewing but I'll catch up I promise. Seems some of my readers didn't heed my warning about I am Legend and watched that snoozer anyway. So, if my suffering or enjoyment and warning there of aren't being taken into consideration I figure I got a little slack.
ANYWAY
This brings me to my post this morning. Ever the traveling one, your hero, me the Untan man has found something of interest. It seems here in the United States a dangerous trend to have men hairless has taken a greater hold over society. Something that I myself find disturbing being gifted with enough body hair as to not confuse me with Bigfoot but rather a man with testosterone in acceptable levels. So I searched out from our shores to find another place for my now indication of need to be banished to the island of misfit toys. Wouldn't you know it.... I found such a place... and that place is ENGLAND BITCHES... and here is my proof. Seems some poor souls in the UK haven't been gifted with a winter coat of manly-ness and thus the Chest Wig was developed. Seems over there the hairy chest is a marker of macho and something liked by the ladies... There is no talk of body waxing... There is no talk of tweezin (which I am a fan of if you have a unibrow). Nay, there in the misty isles they want their man furred. To Hell with a "Happy Trail"... the women their want a Happy Super Highway from neck to nuts. Ah, the freedoms the men there must enjoy... For shame cruel USA with your waxing and plucking. GOD SAVE THE QUEEN AND THE UNITED KINGDOM... a place for chest hair freedom. Oh, and did I mention most if not all there are pale... as in untan... I'm fucking going, that's it.

For all you non-believers....

I have gotten a question or two concerning a couple of pictures I have up on here sprinkled through my "Commentary on the things I find along my travels", and one of the questions is did I really take the picture or not. Some yes, some no... but here is proof that the weird is something I seem to run across from time to time. Now my children sit back and take a gander as this offering. Apostolic Spoken Motion Ministry... seriously I got nothing... it's like shotting fish in a barrel. You know I bet this means Shakira's hips really don't lie... and here I thought those fuckers couldn't talk, except say "hey this bitch has a double jointed anus". "Spoken Motion Ministry"... hip thrust "God is good"... spin, hump, hump "Sin is bad"... bustin a move "Jesus died for our sins"... break dancing "what better metaphor for the Passion"... if Moses had the Jitterbug fuck those ole Commandments. Need I say that Salsa, Meringue, Lambada, and Free Stylin' are all tools of SATAN.
Just look at this proof...Hang on folks I gotta do the "Robot" after seeing that evil image of devil woman and her fairy dance partner... I bet they had just done the Tango in the Ballroom Coven just after they sacrificed a baby at their Black Mass/Baco Raton Leisure Center (Bingo every Monday and Thursday and every third Saturday for our Gentile friends)...
I know a woman who used to be a dancer... (professional not erotic). Could she have been like me and praising Satan with her dancing as I did by just listening to Black Sabbath and Danzig totally unaware?
This dancing at the DDA or Divine Dance Academy is also Prophetic Dance at that... so not only are they worshiping Jesus with a "Boot Scootin" and "Two-Steppin" but they are also telling of the future second coming as well. They Stomp da Yard and you best get yer ass in line cause the lord be a'coming soon. Cloggin and it's a call to repent... You know I'd almost pay my dancer I know to go take a class or two of this... that would be a hoot... fuck it now you know what you're getting for your birthday... wait... I wonder if I can say I'm going to church and come home reeking of stripper and say I tithed and got a powerful message?
This sign that I saw magnetized on both sides of a car in the Ingle's parking lot gave me hope... Look how far we've come since Footloose. Town kept down by a preacher taken over by Satan and forbidding dance... and now there are schools that teach "Spoken Motion Ministry". Left, right, left, right, one, two, hip thrust, dip and spin... you're saved.

Tornadoes, Chasing rainbows, and busting my ass

Last week there was a rash of really bad weather. Atlanta was hit with a tornado which I think was the first in its recorded history. The Untan one over at my mother's house and she being one who did not live too far from said action had to take cover the next day as tornado sirens started blaring. There was rain, thunder and lightning, and hail the size of quarters. We retreated to the basement only for the weather to pass as quickly as it came. The cool breeze along with rain was all that was left of the impending bad weather that was dropping tornadoes left and right in and around my area. Upon coming out of our hole we found ourselves on the porch and over to the side I noticed something and just happened to have my camera phone with me. It was a rainbow. Now, I'd never seen one that close and being the romantic idealic fool that I am; my first thought that rattle out was.... pot'o'gold. So, my ass went Cadillacin like a large draft horse with a serious case of rabies running off the porch. The end of the rainbow was only 20 yards from me.... but as is the case in most of my cautionary tales of woe; the ground was rather slick from the rain which was just passing to the east. I slide I think a good 4 feet before ass meat hit where once were my feet.
Did this stop your hero... oh no... it did not. Pushing myself back up to my feet I continued to the rainbow's end but with a noticeable hitch in my step and borderline terminal injury to my pride which was made no better by the rather loud doubled over cackling coming from the porch... (ah a mother's love)
Anyway, I made it to the rainbow... alas there was no gold but it was definitely different standing in a rainbow. You could see the colors and it was just like being bathed in light in every hue of the spectrum. So, I can add that to my list of things I've done that most haven't and that is I have stood in a rainbow. Sure enough like all things beautiful it too did fade but the beauty still remains in my mind. On a side note I did not start singing Judy Garland numbers or have a weird craving from ruby shoes or a witch killin... but Mom's dog is a Cairn Terrier which is the same breed as Toto... hmmmmmm

Nothing on TV in the dark a.m. hours could lead to STD's....

This lament has been heard by everyone that suffers insomnia, "there's nothing on TV". Truly, it is the land of info-mmercials and shitty movies you'd never watch if you had something to do. The thing that I find interesting is how it's a commentary on our culture. You see info-mmercials on getting a bigger cock through pills or pump... you see pills to make sex last 2 hours longer than a week and maintain terminal erection for 3.9 hours because god in heaven help you if it goes 4 hours akimbo...you then see ways to become independently wealthy from people just dying to share their secret pathway to that said wealth... you then have (my favorite) the Girls Gone Wild video offers and honestly what guy among us hasn't almost been convinced to order one of those videos... you then have love lines where you call in and meet a mate or partake in a 1.95 a minute gherkin jerkin... then the mother of them all the Valtrex commercials.
See it started to make total sense to me... it's like I figured out the code or broke into the matrix. See you get the pills or pump and get a bigger hot hole humping hockey stick. Then you get the magic pill to keep your Asian scarin Godzilla piss pop hard because your ticker just can't pump up your new mutant slobber harmonica. Then you realize something that would make John Holmes give you a thumbs up ain't all it takes cause you need the money to get the pad to do the said "ahh push it" indoors. So, now your buying three legged jeans and have a pill to keep it so it opens doors, and you also now have a pimp palace from the proceeds of your road to wealth idea that the government don't want you to know about. Then it hits you... the lady you bagged has no time for a 3 hour hump and dump session because she's paying a sitter by the half hour, and so you buy the Girls Gone Wild videos which desensitize you to any woman you could really get in real Hee Haw Hell Georgia. Then desperate for the wild thing you call the hook-up line and something visits you that looks like an English sailor from 1700's with a serious case of scurvy but you don't care because that huge cherry poppin daddy has made you lite headed and you need relief after just two hours of it doing nothing but being a sun dial. You do the deed and boom a month later you are wondering why you feel like you're pissing mace. Then you get the Valtrex... thus completing your journey through late night TV. See... I told you I had it figured out.

Things that make me go "hmmmmm"...

This past weekend I heard from a few of my friends that I am a wordsmith. Now, the way it was said wasn't a cut-down or tongue-in-cheek comment either, but something that seemingly meant with a large amount of belief of the truth behind the said comment. So, being the curious bitch I am I looked up the definitive definition of wordsmith. Seems the Merriam-Webster Dictionary online explains wordsmith as follows; a person who works with words; especially : a skillful writer. I got to say that I felt a lot flattered by this, but I think the praise is unwarranted. Yes, I have heard this drum beat being pounded out constantly over the same ole song my fan of one has been playing, but I figured love had way of rose tinting the truth to be something more than it really is in reality.
I was then told by a couple of people I barely know that I have a way with words. I know I am of no great intellect and so it makes me wonder has conversation between peers really fallen upon such hard times vocabulary-wise? Wouldn't it be a simple to just say that I am just above average with the words I spew forth. The fact is I know that isn't the case either because if I were such I wordsmith I would have held certain words inside and not let them fly. Words have a way of really wounding someone and how very tragic when they wound people you truly care about, and only come out as a glaring example of our weakness of character and by no means are born from a fault of the wounded. You really can't take words you say back. I have often said there is no point in defusing a bomb once it's gone off, and so words said when you are betraying not only who they are directed at but ourself can not be taken back.
I suppose the only thing a so-called wordsmith can do is try in his limited way to use those same words people say I work so well with to try and bring some peace to the affected if said in error. So to those that proclaim me wordsmith I do thank you for your praise, but in my definition of such a wordsmith would not let his human failings wound those he cares so very much for. I have said and written things that unlike the delusional who believe there are no such thing as regrets; I find myself regretting. My regrets are my demons in the wee early dark morning hours of sleeplessness and they are legion. So any who speak or write and might one day be called wordsmith; take this warning that the pain you cause by your words you work in will be visited back on your ten fold or at least has been the case with me. When I fall I am always standing on top of a mountain and sometimes my change has only come through the pain of my dearest hearts and for this I may be forgiven but shall never forgive myself. My debt I pay over and over again each night where sleep eludes me and gladly so, least I forget. Life is too short to hurt the ones you love with words you never truly meant because Hell truly is the absence of those you cared for so dearly only to lose because you yourself were for a moment lesser.

Who you can get away with being a dick/bitch too in the service industry and who you can't

...or (The pubes in my Arby's roast beef sandwich and the reasons why)
This is a cautionary tale as much as it is an educational musing of life as I've found it along my travels. My aunt is a great woman and to know her is to love her, but one should be very careful going out to eat with her. She has a bad tendency to be the customer people hate in a restaurant. She wants quality and she wants it her way, and in reality this isn't a bad thing but in food service it can help you in your consumption of pubes, spit, body hair, and kitchen floor filth. She has been on occasion a tad fussy about her meal and at times has arrived for said meal under 10 minutes before the kitchen closes and no buddy but the closers are still in the restaurant. This is taking your dining experience into crazy town.
Let me also state I've worked a few kitchens in my day and so I'm not talking from the witless patron side of things... I've seen the darkside.
There was a small sandwich shop in my home town called Daddy's Deli and it was my aunt's favorite. This should have been a warning because this eatery being her favorite meant she had been there a lot. I remember it like it was yesterday that my mother and I went with my aunt to the Deli of the Daddy, but this visit was to color my life in a hue of heave. This day we visited went down in my memories of youth as the attack of the pubes. That's right... evidently someone in the kitchen (could have been Daddy himself) knew who was eating and put a lil of himself in the meal. I remember looking at my mother's drink cup and noticing all these dark curly hairs on it, and being the observant nipper I pointed them out. Mom turned green... because not only were they on the drink but all over the plate as well. Everyone had a sandwich with a side of curlies from down under. Daddy must have been bald from belt buckle down from the amount of hair that was their. Mother's face had that silent scream on it and we left with her almost wanting to puke and I'm not really sure if she didn't...twas many moons ago and I've blocked out a lot. We told my aunt but for some reason she didn't care... didn't believe... or lived in some deep ghetto in the land of denial. Whatever the case we (my mother and me) never went back to Daddy's Deli after consuming some of Daddy. To this very day I can mention this visit to my mother and she gets sick and hollers "Shut up" shuddering as if remembering a birthday party as a child where the clown blowing up balloons was walking around with his dick out.
What my major point is in all this is, when one is dining out it is really good to get there at a good time and be nice along with not to fussy. Otherwise, you just might be getting your daily dose of humanity literally. Sure fuss at your mechanic, construction worker, and doctor/dentist, but watch your ass when the folks in the service industry you're bitching at are handling your food, because as Daddy proved not only are they handling your food they are handling their balls....who wants lunch?

"Laid back"...."Not gonna rush tha stroke"

OK, I get it... I've been off from bloggin for a wee bit now, but fear not kiddies. Dangerously Untan is back and shall be posting new money shots of verbal masturbation for all to rub in showing true love. Don't really know why I stopped but for some reason I just found myself doing other things. Funny how a couple of classes will fuck up your flow. So, to all (if any) of my fans... "let me lick you up and down...except for your anus", cause I likes my tongue all around but not willing to risk do-do brown. See, just as funky flavored as before so stay tuned.

Crippled by Christmas shopping, and now needing a candy cane to walk...

Being this is the season for stress and shopping until dropping. The Untan one shall be taking a Winter's nap from bloggin for the next two days. Who knows I might get froggy and rant about how this time of year has descended into a consumer hell on earth but I think I'll be doing the family thing while they are still on this plain to celebrate with.
For those I've lost this year my tree just doesn't seem as bright. For those I know hurting during this time... I hope some part of me can be a pain killer. For those without, know I'd share what if anything I have cause I don't plan on taking it with me. For those that have come in my life and supported, loved, and became my fan of one, know you've made all the difference.
This year some have made a great effort to take the bah from my hum bug.
Now something to laugh at or ponder... you be the judge.

I think this would be me as Santa after about 12 Jäger bombs to dull the pain of shallow brats asking for the lastest consumer good being pushed down our throats by soulless companies. This is a Santa who just found out his "job that no American would work" supposedly has been taken by a illegal Mexican working for less. Once upon a time I was a cook while in college to make some cash now you can't beg away those jobs from the all spanish speaking staff. Yet our government and political pundits would have you believe no one local would work those jobs.... lies all lies

The Land of Confusion And Where to Shop...

Ok, I don’t understand why people tell me they have a hard time shopping for me. Those of you for who this statement applies to (all 3 of ya), I present these two stores. Just look someone put both of them side by side.
I gotta be honest when I saw the store on my left I ran to it giggling and making noises of joy like the retarded kids did in high school going to class on Banana Bread day. The concept of wholesale BJ’s (cause retail blows…no pun intended) was like Santa got my list. Unfortunately, I had to come to my senses really quick because a full of pseudo-Christ soccer mom in a SUV almost took me out not paying attention to the pedestrians in her path of terror.
I will say this I had no idea that they made clothes for my dick. Of course on a few excursions to a local Adult Book Store I’ve seen “sporting” goods for my who-who fiddly. The mind does wonder what bedazzled ornaments or clothing would be available in Dick’s for my pork sword and goolies.
Funny thing is, I stopped before going into either store because I thought it is Christmas, and I’ve already heard once again that it’s hard to shop for me. So, with that in mind I offer you two stores within which I’m sure you can find something for me. Why at BJ’s wholesale club, hell just a membership to the club says love. God Bless ya if you bought ole Untan a six pack of BJ’s at whole sale prices. Then you could pop into Dick’s and find a sporting good or two along with a costume to adorn my solo warrior in the valley of the vag.

No boyfriend knew the reason Tiffany didn't like Doggie style... UNTIL NOW...

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Heaven isn't to far away...Closer to it everyday...And no matter what ya friends might say... we'll find our way

Be the words from a late 80's prophets they sang this quatrain, that truly shitty hair metal band known as Warrant...

Just the other day during my travels I think I found the subdivision I want to move to once I find myself less residentially challenged. Forget about your swimming pool and tennis court gated communities. I want the name of the subdivision not to be a description of what they paved and plowed over to make the cookie cutter lots. Nay, I want my subdivision to say just what I’m thinking some days… cause I keeps it real like that… introducing my future subdivision.

Imagine my surprise, when I pulled off into the local mall or modern day temples to the consumer gods that I saw this. “What did you see Untan,” you might find yourself asking, and I’ll tell ya. I found a store offering something that I thought was illegal to sell and not only that but at 50% off, bitches. Granted it is the larger variety they are selling but at 50% off you can deal with the queef, or cooter pooter as we say in the country. "Where is this Xanadu, Shangri La, or Briggadune," you might find yourself saying breathless with anticipation... "Oh, PLEASE, Untan even though we be unworthy of Eden tell us the location of that which you have found," would come your pleas cause I knows you be wonderin. Well, Untan does hear your laments from on high and will tell you my children where to find this place of milk and honey...it’s in Cumming, (oh it's a real place) Georgia, of course.

The Glorious Mullet and the evidence of its world domination

Who knew that when I was rocking the poodle mullet in high school that slowly my "Band of the Quaff" was spreading and taking over the world. Listed below are the names the mighty hairstyle goes by... kinda like how there is a word in each language for God and the Devil, so too are names for the mullet...coincident??? I think not.

The Argentinian term is Cubana, in reference to the alleged popularity of the haircut among Cubans, and also called "Colectivero" in reference to public bus drivers.

The Brazilian term is Chitãozinho e Xororó, in reference to the singers who started using this haircut in Brazil.

The English Canadian term is "hockey-hair" in reference to the haircut's popularity among ice hockey players.

The French Québécois Montréal term is "coupe Longueuil" (Longueuil haircut) in reference to the Montréal suburb of Longueuil.

The English Québécois term is "pad" because the hair falling flat on the back looks like a pad. The person wearing it is often called a "paddé".
One Australian nickname for a mulleteur is "Freddie Firedrill", supposedly because the subject's haircut was interrupted by a fire-alarm sounding after the barber had finished shaving the front, but before s/he had started on the back of the head.

The Chamoru or Guam term is chad haircut, a reference to its popularity among most "chads" or local Guamanians' version of a "trailer-park person."

The Chilean term is chocopanda, chocola or just "choco", in reference to the ubiquitous public transportation Chocolito Panda ice-cream sellers sporting such a haircut. It is also called a "Zamorano", after Iván Zamorano or "Pichanguera" or just "Changa"("pichanga" is an informal soccer match in Chilean slang), because of the great number of soccer players who use this haircut. This haircut is also popular among the lower classes and gangs. Lately, it is used by the pokemones subculture.

The Colombian term is Siete (seven) because the hair on top and back form the image of a number seven. Also known as Paisa due to its popularity in the northwestern region.("paisas" is a name for Colombians from that region.)

The Croatian term is fudbalerka, literally "footballer (hair)", a reference to its popularity among soccer players in the 1980s.

The Czech terms include čolek (which means "newt"), deka (means quilt) or na debila (means asshole-style)

The Danish term is Bundesliga-hår, which refers to its alleged popularity among Bundesliga soccer players, or alternatively, svenskerhår (Swede-hair), referring to its former popularity in Sweden. For the same reason, it is also called hockeyhår (hockey hair), because of the large amount of Swedes who can be seen on the ice rink sporting a mullet. It is also called nakkegarn, meaning "yarn by the back of the neck".

The Dutch term is matje, which means "little carpet/mat". Some people refer to it as a Duitse mat (German mat) as well, implying that this is a haircut typical for Germans. It is also referred to in Rotterdam and some other areas as "nekspoiler" (neck spoiler, as in car spoiler). Typical for Flemish areas is "nektapijt" (neck carpet).

Other North American English terms are Missouri Compromise, Tennessee Waterfall, Hockey Hair, Beaver Tail, Beaver Paddle, Ape Drape, El Camino, Canadian Passport, Yep-Nope, Soccer Rocker, Achy-breaky-bad-mistakey, Mud Flap, Neck Warmer, Camaro Cut.

The Finnish term is takatukka, which means "rear hair". Sometimes lätkätukka or tsekkitukka is also used, which means "ice hockey haircut" in reference to the Swedish term. Tsekkitukka means "Czech hair", based on Czech hockey players' hairstyle (especially Jaromir Jagr). Mullets are a well known and still popular "hockeyhair" in Czech Republic.

The French term is "Coupe à la Waddle", referring to Chris Waddle, the English football player who adopted this haircut in the 1980s while he played for Olympique Marseille. It can also be referred as "nuque longue" because of the long hair covering the back of the neck ("nuque" in French).

The German term is "Vokuhila", meaning "vorne kurz, hinten lang" (short in the front, long in the back). The opposite to this is "Volahiku". It is topped by "Vokuhilaoliba", meaning "vorne kurz, hinten lang, Oberlippenbart" (short in the front, long in the back, moustache). Because of its supposed popularity among men from the Eastern parts of formerly divided Germany, the hair cut is in Western Germany also known as "Ossispoiler" ("Eastern German spoiler, as in a car spoiler").
Austria has a number of terms, for example "Nackenmatte" ("nape rug") (also used in South Germany). DerStandard.at has a nice list here.

The Greek term is "Χαίτη" (Hety) or "Λασπωτήρας" (Laspotiras) which means "Mudflap".

The Hebrew term is vilon, which means "curtain". Another common term is "Eli Ohana" haircut, named after a famous football player who wore this haircut.

The Hungarian term is also Bundesliga or just simply footballist (soccer player) hair, "focistafrizura".

The Icelandic term is Hebbi, referring to a nickname of an Icelandic singer called Herbert Guðmundsson sporting the hairstyle, or sítt að aftan (long in the back).

The Italian term is "capelli alla tedesca" (hair at German style) or "taglio alla tedesca" (haircut at German style) referring to its former popularity in Germany, above all among Bundesliga soccer players. It is also known as "alla MacGyver" (at MacGyver style) as the main character of this the popular American TV series appears with mullet in some episodes, or as "sette" (seven) because the hair on top and back form the image of a number seven, but also "pitta". This haircut is also very popular among people who listen and dance house music, especially in Rome and Milan. House people in Italy usually show middle-length hair on the top (often spiked up), short hair at the sides (sometimes totally shaved) and very long hair at the back of the head (most of the time they smooth the back hair downwards).

The Japanese term is urufu hea which is the Japanese way of saying "wolf hair." It's actually a quite popular look among young men, though the hair in the front is generally longer than a typical mullet's.

The Macedonian term is "џигерица" [dzigerica], meaning the "liver haircut".

The Mexican term is "buki" haircut because the Mexican band Los Bukis are known to have used this hairstyle.

The Norwegian term is "hockeysveis" or "hockeyteppe", meaning "hockey hairstyle" and "hockey blanket", referring to the hairstyle's popularity among ice hockey players.

The Puerto Rican term is "playero" which translates as "beach comber" or "beach style" because of its stereotypical use by surfers.

The Portuguese terms are: XF which comes from a motorcycle model from Zundapp, or Deixe Ficar which is short for deixe ficar atrás. That's what you say to your hairdresser when you want him not to cut the hair on the back of your head. One other is semi reboque, which means a big truck trailer.

The Polish term is "Czeski piłkarz" - meaning "Czech football player" as in the 1970s the haircut was greatly popular among Czech footballers.

The Romanian term is chicǎ, which means "long hair at the neck". This haircut is associated with redneck-like people and is socially associated with the lack of sophistication or culture.

The Russian term is Dima Bilan, named after The Russian Pop Singer.[5]

The Serbian term is "Tarzanka", referring to Tarzan the Ape Man.

Another Serbian term is "Krčedinka", in reference to the alleged popularity of the haircut in the village of Krčedin.

The Slovenian term is also Bundesliga or simply metlica, which translates to "a small broom".

The Bosnian term for a mullet is "fudbolerka", indicating the mullet's former popularity with soccer players.

The Swedish term is hockeyfrilla, which means "ice hockey haircut" in reference to its popularity among some hockey players. The music group De lyckliga kompisarna wrote a song with this name, that was played extensively on radio in the early 90s.

The Turkish term is aslan yelesi, Fikirtepe modeli or kaleci saçı, which means "lion's mane", "Fikirtepe" (a suburb of Istanbul where this style was popular among shuttle drivers) style" and "goalkeeper's hair" respectively.

The Sanskrit "sikha" ("crest" or "top-knot") that a Hindu Vaishnava devotee wears can be mistaken for a mullet if long and bushy enough. Western devotees sometimes pass off their sikhas as mullets when inquired by outsiders.

The South African term is "Benoni Special" referring to the prevalence of the hairstyle in that area of the country.

The mullet style haircut in recent years has become very common in both special needs men and women.

I can do whatever I want, whenever I want, it's a celebration.... NOT REALLY

Just last week I over heard a conversation at the restaurant I was at between a group of women. I wasn’t eavesdropping but as you all know with groups there is always going to be a loud one or two. Well, this particular day the loud one started telling a story about a concert she had recently seen by, My Chemical Romance. First off, I think this band totally sucks in so many different ways, but as in every thing such as this, it’s a matter of taste. The fact someone went to their concert wasn’t the reason I was writing this blog, and the fact that she stated she was 32 isn't the reason either. Ok, I know people who are 32 could like My Chemical Romance, because Nickelback is still floating around because some people have no taste but that’s still not why I’m writing this blog. She said at first she was “kinda feeling uncomfortable because she felt like the oldest person there," but in fact wasn’t. She saw others her age, although those people her age were with their kids. That says something right there and it made me wonder are there some bands that certain people shouldn’t go see because of age, and that my friends is why I’m writing the blog.
If I take my age (33) and think “is it alright for me to like Avril Lavigne”, well sure I can like her music because anyone can.

*URGENT DISCLAIMER* I do not like Avril Lavigne’s music and find it hard not to run my head into a wall if I’m trapped in a place that’s playing it, and in the aforementioned sentence I only say I like her music for demonstration purposes only…. You may now resume your blog reading**

Could you go and buy her music at a store or online?... Of course
Could you go and buy a ticket to her concert if she came to a town near you?... Sure why not
This all being said would you stick out like a sore thumb? YES… The crowd at her show would be at least 10 years younger than you (if you were my age), and if you went and if by chance there were some there your age (in the few that you’d number), then they would be with A. their kids being a chaperon and hating life, or B. have a really shitty taste in music in my opinion. There is no argument that people have a right to go and enjoy music of any varieties… hell some people like Bright Eyes, but they dwell in a fantasy land and speak Esperanto.
The thing is… would they stick out, and yes they would. It is almost like saying enjoy the music but only go to age appropriate concerts. Sure, that is really subjective to everyone about what concerts should certain aged people show up at. See, a kid of 12 to 15 at an Oldies concert and folks think “aw they like the classics”. Have someone as old as me show to see Hannah Montana and people think “holy shit, it’s a pedophile.” As long as you keep your dick in your pants and don’t try to touch kids then you have every right to be at the Hannah Montana show. You start dancing and holding your hands in the air singing the lyrics word for word, then you no longer are a fan but just someone seriously sad who didn’t get the memo that at certain times it’s just for the young to act foolish.
Did the woman who was 32 make a mistake going to the My Chemical Romance concert? Yes, and not because of age but she did and for the reason I will state now. She said to her friends that she didn’t care she was one of the oldest at the show (which is good), but she said she showed those kids how to rock out (which was so very wrong). People it seems sometimes have a tendency in stressful or awkward situations to make themselves even more the obvious stand-out. Hell, if people were going to watch you because you’re older thinking you're out of place, then you are really going to act the ass and stand out if you “SHOW them” how to rock out (old school style rock out I’m sure). This shows you that once you feel uncomfortable at a concert or live gig that you really should think twice about going to another one. Kind of like those commercials that they were showing about people discovering music and going into places they had no business being in and getting in trouble for it. I’ll never forget the one commercial I saw that had the lil Asian guy walking into a leather S&M bar, because he really liked the techno house music he heard from the street. It later shows him strapped turning on a Wheel of Pain, with a mistress warming up a Cat-o-Nine-tails to punish him for trespassing as he screamed behind a ball gag. The commercial went on to say there are easier ways to experience new music. Well, they are right there are better ways to experience music than going to places that could be a little dicey.
So, with all this being said, just make sure you are doing the right thing when you go for certain music and decide to see that music in its natural habitat or go to a concert. For instance Mastodon ain’t gonna be featured in Tiger Beat Magazine but Panic! At the Disco would. So, if you’re a 33 year old tattooed metal head from the early 90’s, which show do you think would be the best choice to go see and which one do you think you should experience in the comfort of your own home or vehicle??? Some of you might not know the answer to that, but let me leave you with this picture below to help you figure it out, and chose wisely people.
(Notice the majority of Panic! At the Disco fans, and then Mr. Free Baller keepin it real with a bit of sack trying to escape, and think who belongs there and who doesn't. Sure they all have a right to be there but just because you have the right don't mean you should exercise it.)

Check the box that applies to you... Nougat Filled (CHECK)

In these times we find ourselves so divisive. Whose race is better? White, Black, Red, Yellow, Tan, or Pale with spots of dark pink during times of duress. Whose religion is going to get you to heaven? Christians, Muslims, Jews, Buddhism, Hinduism, or that cult I started where it’s ladies night every night. As you can see there are so many different ways we divide ourselves, that when we break it on down to hair color it starts getting ridiculous. I myself was raised in a household that ascribed to one of the 32 flavors of Christianity, and my skin color just happened to be pale with spots of dark pink during times of duress, but just because of those boxes I check on standardized forms did it put the slant on my world view as well? Sure, I’d like to say it didn’t but I’m not going to kid myself and say I keep it real like an inner city black man that belongs to the Nation of Islam. The truth is I do see the world in a different way, but the key is I can also understand that others see it in their way, but neither one of us are wrong until our views impede on the freedoms and right to pursue happiness of others.
This brings me to the biggest line to ever be drawn in the sand and that line is hair color. If I’m wearing a suit and have a briefcase with a cross pin on my lapel no one will give a shit if my hair is neon pink, because the hair color is my sign and to the world it says “FREAK”. Sure if it’s a young child under the age of 10 then it’s just a goofy kid being all whacky. The other get-out-of-jail-free card for this is, say a school principle or coach dyeing their hair as a joke or to match school colors because the band has sold 10,000 dollars worth of candy bars or the team has beat the cross town rivals. If you decide to dye your hair and the color on the box has “neon” any color, and it’s not some zany joke, but because it shows your rocking spirit; I’m sorry you’re a freak. This isn’t my rules it is the rules society has set up, and I’m in no way saying they are right. Hell, I could care less what anyone does with their hair except for my lady which I enjoy having a rich luxurious mane, but even I know I don’t got too much say in the matter.
You might want to disagree with me saying “NO, Untan... there are bigger issues than hair in the world”, and I would agree with you. Then if you were a woman I’d say if I could cure a sick kid in Africa that you’d never meet by shaving your head for life, would you do it and I bet a “Hell naw” would ring out. Sure you’ll go to some god forsaken third world shit hole with your church mission group and paint a house or two and help build a new hut that will be blown down by the next hurricane or regime change military cue, but alter your person and that’s a wee more than you’re willing to do. I’ve seen grown women weep because 2 inches more of their hair was cut than they wanted and it ruined their entire 3 months till it grew back. Yet, show a Latin kid needing help and you’ll hear them say “Damn Mexicans are ruining everything”, yet he’s from Costa Rica.
Now don’t think I’m just bashing women on this because if men weren’t vain ego basket cases about their hair, there wouldn’t be any “Just for Men” hair color commercials or the multi-billion dollar industry to reverse the signs of balding. Seems men sometimes see their hair like their cock, because if they are lacking in either you just might see a sports car in the garage and or the drive-way.
My point is that there are such huge issues that divide us as culture and as a race (human race assholes), that something as little as hair color or anything hair shouldn’t define us or make us. Sure blondes might have more fun. Sure redheads might be red on the head fire in the hole or have a fiery disposition. Sure brunettes might be the best lay you ever had because of a guilt complex for not being born blonde or redheaded, but that isn’t the point. The point is we all have our things that we group ourselves under and exclude others from, and if we took away one of those things we’d find something else to pick at. It seems for so long we’ve been trying to celebrate being so different from each other we forgot what make us the same. So, blondes may have more fun, but as the picture clearly shows brunettes are more fun to have.

A gift idea for the man who has everything...

Ah, the Holidays where tempers flame up just as hot as the Yule log you got burning. A time when not only are you roasting chestnuts but also getting your nuts busted by those you call family. This is a confusing time of year for some people. Not only are loved ones faced with where to have holiday family get-togethers, but people are faced with gift buying etiquette (should I buy Uncle Bob a gift even though Uncle Bob is a douche and never gives no one anything). Sell that bullshit to the tourist, about "it's more about giving than recieving" after you've been stiffed for the fifth year in a row from the rich relative who you always remember, but they always seem to forget you unless they have a coupon for bullshit. Another hard thing about gift giving is what you get someone on your list that has amassed consumer goods and a lot of the easy gift buying ideas like CD’s and DVD’s.
Well for those of you out there clueless on what to get me for Christmas. I finally have a gift idea for you.

You got it bitches, the MacGyver multi-tool… Why, yes the godfather of mullets himself has the answer you’ve been looking for. How many times during the late 80’s did we not see this bastard blow up a bad guy's base with bubble gum and chest hair, or diffuse a nuclear bomb with one of these bad boys. Hell, I remember some kids really did make a bomb from an episode of MacGyver they saw. Which begs a couple of questions… one, how lame were they to be paying that much attention to MacGyver and two, who knew household Drano could do that?
So I hope this helps those out there looking for me this Yuletide season. I know I’m hard to shop for but now you have a hint for something I want so it should be no problem.
I can’t wait to get one of these bitches because I’m gonna use it to bust into an ATM machine at my local convenience store and make my get away with a cigarette lighter and two packs of Hubba Bubba chewing gum. First the local Golden Pantry…. Next… the world.

I don't knows nothing bout birthing no blog... Miss Scarlet...

Hello, and welcome to my little home on the internet. Picture this moment like Mr. Rogers (rest his soul) walking in singing "Hello" to all his new neighbors out there in TV land. Why right now I'm taking off my shoes and sport coat from my morning at the office. Although I'm taking it a bit further than Mr. Rogers, because right now I'm taking off my pants. Yes, and I'm putting back on the ratty gym shorts I slept in, because the ratty gym shorts I left laying on the floor are much more comfy. Thank whatever god you pray too that what I just did wasn't televised...scrotus interruptus... spooky thing.
Let me also state that I have a wicked pisser case of the flu. Unfortunately yours truly Dangerously Untan must have pissed on Indian burial ground one drunken night because I was afflicted with something that made me look like the anger zombies from 28 Days Later and the just as spooky/rattling 28 Weeks Later. While I sit here and wonder just how much snot can the human body produce. It makes it hard to want to think beyond "will I ever know comfort again". So, I will soon get to regular postings as soon as the demon known as flu is exercised from my body by the witch doctor's prescription of holy voodoo from the Wal-Mart Pharmacy.