The Isolated Blurt Thread XXXIII: N. 12° 38.1' W. 61° 21.4'

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I think boys have rattails.

I did. It was to the middle of my back and bleach blonde...

They made me cut it off at church camp. Said it was a symbol of homosexuality.. Not sure where they gathered their intel on that..
 
I did. It was to the middle of my back and bleach blonde...

They made me cut it off at church camp. Said it was a symbol of homosexuality.. Not sure where they gathered their intel on that..

I always associated them with rednecks/hicks, but that was because my cousin had one growing up. Leave it to the church to blame the gays for that travesty of a hair style.

I've conveniently forgotten about those.

I had until right now. And then the image reared its ugly head.
 
I always associated them with rednecks/hicks, but that was because my cousin had one growing up. Leave it to the church to blame the gays for that travesty of a hair style.



I had until right now. And then the image reared its ugly head.

Yeah, it was 85 or so and my sister was in beauty school. I was her guinea pig. I don't know if it was a hicky thing until the 90's... I think. What the hell do I know I was 8.
 


I lived in an illegal wood/brick 4 story warehouse loft for years in Toronto's Fashion District...nothing was anywhere even close to meeting any Codes.

I was the only non-artiste in the building and there were gigantic parties every weekend; it was common for there to be 500 people smoking, drinking, dancing, fucking jammed into the space down the hall.

My space had an old iron fire escape outside my bathroom window, but otherwise there was only one door to the building and a freight elevator to the back alley.

Good times, no deaths that I know of.


http://scontent.cdninstagram.com/t51.2885-15/s480x480/e15/10475142_410159785790773_531744634_n.jpg?ig_cache_key=NzUxNDEzMzUyNjU3NjYwODM0.2

 
TROTSKY: Also—look at this. (Holds up a skull.) Do you know what this is?
MRS. TROTSKY: No.
TROTSKY: It's a skull.
MRS. TROTSKY: Well, I knew that, but—
TROTSKY: I bought this skull. I own this skull. So what does that make this?
(Pause.)
MRS. TROTSKY and TROTSKY: (Together.) Trotsky's skull.
TROTSKY: If some Spanish-Communist-posing-as-a-gardener wants to bury anything in my skull, be it a ... (He is about to say "ice pick.") ... you-know-what or anything else—this will be here as a decoy. He'll see the skull, recognise it as my skull, bury something in it, and he'll go his way and I'll go mine. Is that ingenious?
MRS. TROTSKY: Up to a point.
 
TROTSKY: Also—look at this. (Holds up a skull.) Do you know what this is?
MRS. TROTSKY: No.
TROTSKY: It's a skull.
MRS. TROTSKY: Well, I knew that, but—
TROTSKY: I bought this skull. I own this skull. So what does that make this?
(Pause.)
MRS. TROTSKY and TROTSKY: (Together.) Trotsky's skull.
TROTSKY: If some Spanish-Communist-posing-as-a-gardener wants to bury anything in my skull, be it a ... (He is about to say "ice pick.") ... you-know-what or anything else—this will be here as a decoy. He'll see the skull, recognise it as my skull, bury something in it, and he'll go his way and I'll go mine. Is that ingenious?
MRS. TROTSKY: Up to a point.

Mrs. Trotsky knows me. :)
 
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