Permanent Ink In Your Eye

“You have to look at the card for a few seconds before you see that the animals that pull the chariot have neither reigns nor bridles. It’s the Captain James T. Kirk card, the card of leaping before looking, of burned bridges and uncovered asses. The card of thinking you know what’s going on when you don’t. As a message for the reader, it was ambiguous.”

–Rosemary Edghill

If almost anyone in my social network sent me a text that said, “I just hit myself in the face!” I’d respond with something like, “Oh no! Are you okay? How did that happen?” However, when I receive the same message from my buddy Angelo, I’m usually like, “Good job, but you really don’t have to tell me every time you masturbate.”

To steal a turn of phrase from Co-Witch A., Angelo approaches the carnal arts like the rest of us eat dessert: Voraciously, and with gusto. And please know that if his vibrant enthusiasm for sex was causing unmanagability in other areas, I’d be the first to pack his ass off to convent school. Thing is, he has the same level enthusiasm for pretty much everything. Whereas most people experience a variety of preferential emotions, from aversion to apathy to appreciation to adoration, Angelo has two speeds: asleep, and “OH HOLY GOD, THIS CHICKEN SALAD IS LIFE-CHANGING.”

Most recently, Angelo launched himself on a mission to come up with a concept for his next tattoo, and it was with no little happy pride that he emailed me to show off the design he’d decided to have etched on his bicep:

thurisaz
Totes innocuous, yo.

“Isn’t it amazing?!” he wrote. “It’s simple, clean and meaningful. PERFECT.”

His glee is always infectious, but something about the rune he’d picked was niggling at me. The runes themselves are decidedly not my forte, as I tend to shy away from anything occult I can’t pronounce, but seeing as how I have the entire Internet at my disposal, I poked around and quickly found a name and description.

Thurisaz. “Thorn.” Conflict, destruction, violent aggression, raping and pillaging, generalized stabbiness and male sexuality. Or, as Angelo saw it, conflict, destruction, violent aggression, raping and pillaging, generalized stabbiness and MALE SEXUALITY (-ALITY -Ality -ality…).

In an attempt to distract him with metaphysics until I could figure out a nice way to throw rocks at his joy, I was all, “Hey, that reminds me of the geomantic figure Rubeus.” To which Angelo responded,”Dude! You should get that as a tattoo when I get mine!” While I appreciated his determination to include me in his escapades, I’m about as likely to get a tattoo of Rubeus as I am to have the word “republican” branded on my forehead. What I am likely to do is have a controlled meltdown over his identification with Thurisaz, but only because I fundamentally disagree with his interpretation, and I’m never, ever wrong about anything.

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Yes. Dolores Claiborne. Exactly.

Dear Homeowner,

While I’m sure your pit bull/Rottweiler/Komodo dragon mix may in fact be, as you believe, “the sweetest puppy in the world,” your neighbors are terrified and don’t want to live in a Stephen King movie anymore.

Also, the apology notes left on doorsteps and signed with giant, smeared paw prints are just creeping everyone out.

A+ for effort, though.