“Caught on camera” like some soccer mom was in a mall parking lot with her camera out.

And for a couple of hours, they smelled nice.

Lace codes (and brace or strap codes I’m reminded above) are largely dead now. It started letting up when it was discovered how dope blue Docs looked with red laces.

See? The system works!

Hitting a guy with an ax handle. There’s not a lot of nuance or grace in it.

Back a few lifetimes ago in this area it was anti-gay.

Yeah, absolutely. It’s’s an old Skinhead/Bonehead thing. You’d rock different colors to say what you sort of believed. Red was neo-nazi, white was klan or white power, blue I think was pro cop, yellow was anti-gay, green was something bad but I don’t remember what, may be you robbed everyone. This was kind of nationwide but varied by area somewhat. Like blue could mean pro cop or anticop. This was way before think blue line stuff.

So growing up you’d see a bunch of bone heads strutting around with white laces and you’d know they were all racist shiteaters.

Mostly I think it was a way for skins to decide who to fight. Like I say, I was a punk, so not as much into fighting for fun like most skins were. I just ran with some because being a skater and a punk then was a little harder if you got caught alone. And having friends that liked to fight was just good sense.

I’m 52 now so I don’t punch anyone anymore. But back in the mid '80s to early '90s I was one of a few skatepunks that ran around with some ofe the local Unity Skins. We did a fair bit of nazi punching (and ax handling). This was toward the end of lace codes and wearing patches on bomber jackets. I’m not sure we changed anyone’s mind but for a few years, no one was rocking confederate flags or white laces in the open. But I’m just some random guy online so take everything I say with a grain of salt.

(White, red, and yellow laces still give me pause. My teen came home one day wearing yellow laces and we had to have a talk. After some fact checking, and him explaining some stuff, I let it go and got a pair of yellows for my boots. Funny how things change over time and areas).

I have a big Veto bag. It was a gift from one of my bosses. I’d never have bought one (though I have occidental bags and am not afraid to spend money on tools) but god damn, it is a fine piece of gear. If it ever wears out, I’d deff buy a new one.

This isn’t the real RFK Jr. The real one is being held captive. The imposter is trying to drop out and support trump. But the real one will be released upon winning the election and will then be sitting president. Keep the faith, spread the word, and vote RFK Jr! Don’t believe the lies.

But it isn’t broken. It’s working perfectly and exactly the way it’s desiged to. It doesn’t need fixing. It needs replacing.

If you want a tattoo, or several, it’ll sort of decide for you. Like go into a shop, meet some artists, look through their portfolios. Something will jump out at you and the pain will work itself out. Really, meet the artists. You want someone you vibe with. You’re going to be in an intimate relationship with them. And you don’t want some nut-jobs mojo getting in your skin.

Everyone feels tattoos different. My worst were my elbows, center of my sternum, and by far the worst, my inner wrist. My buddy had real problems getting his palm done but mine just felt weird. I’ve heard ribs are torture but mine were OK. The top of my foot was brutal, my friend (different dude) said he almost didn’t feel his. Keeping clean, follow whatever after-care that particular artist says to do until you learn your body and have experience on how you personally heal. And after it’s healed, sunscreen.

Also, try to remember, tattoos aren’t a static piece, they’re dynamic. They change over time and you wear them in. They’re like a good pair of jeans, they reflect wear and tear. They can fade a bit, they can get a little muted. This is part of the beauty. They aren’t stickers.

The guy has brain worms and rats himself out for dumping bears in parks. I’m not trying to be rude, but do you really think he can read a room? Really?

This was one I did to a buddy years ago but he still says it’s the best prank pulled on him ever. We had each other’s apartment keys so we could walk each other’s dogs.

He had gone out drinking and playing poker with some friends. I knew he’d be coming home drunk. I got into his place and took every single light bulb out. All the lamps, all the ceiling fixtures. His fish tank. The little one in the fridge. Every single one. Then I took his futon mattress and put it in his storage shed and made up the frame like it was all ready for bed. Then I took his couch cushions too. Fed and walked his dog and went home and locked all my doors and windows and made sure to put the chain on the door.

Maryland stands behind this opinion.

Maryland here… Our crabs are 3x better than yours.

Well, it’s world Breakfast for Dinner day so everyone is with their families making pancakes and waffles. Kids playing in the yard, moms and dads watching the sportball game, dad’s and moms making waffles, drunkles going for it with the mimosa pitchers.

Scrambled Egg Man is getting his 1974 Pinto loaded with presents to deliver them to the good kids all over the world and kissing his life partner on the forehead as he sets out on his journey.

Somewhere in a jungle, the village children ask to be told the story again of the time Great Gramps AccAcc saw Scrambled Egg Man swing on vines while dropping Stretch Armstrongs and GI Joe USS Flag playsets to all the huts.

The world has found peace. Tomorrow is a holiday and everyone has the day off with pay.

Breakfast for dinner.

Or, you know, get enough people to get them.

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