The Golden Age Of Grotesque

The devils are girls 
With Van Gogh’s missing ear
You say what you want
But filth is all that they hear
I’ve got the jigger 
To make you all bigger
Ladies und gentlemen 

It’s a dirty word, Reich
Say what you like


We’re the low Art Gloominati 
We aim to depress
The scabaret sacrilegends


This is the Golden Age of Grotesque 


~ Marilyn Manson


Well, it finally happened.

I knew that it would, eventually. I’ve been running from it for years, cleverly avoiding the traps it would lay in the most bizarre and desperate ways; but I knew my time was running out. It happens to everyone - there was no real logical reason to think it wasn’t going to happen to me.

I can accept that. But it doesn’t mean I have to like it.

Though strangely, and I cannot believe I am saying this, I actually do like it.

Enough rambling. You see, I got a job. A real job. One that doesn’t involve taking my clothes off for money. Sadly.

And though I didn’t really want to get a real job, ever, when I finally gave in, I ended up totally lucking out. The perfect job was just waiting for me the very first time I opened the newspaper to peruse the classifieds section:


"Receptionist/Experienced Piercer required for busy tattoo and piercing studio. 'To The Point' (403)240-2120."


“No shit,” I exclaimed, nudging M in the ribs. “Baby, check this out.”

M looked up from his Denny’s skillet and squinted at the ad. “Nice,” he said.

“Do you think that means they need a receptionist and an experienced piercer?” I frowned into the newspaper. “Or do they just want one person who can do both?”

“I dunno,” M said through a mouthful of hash browns and sausage. “Give ‘em a call and find out.”

“Oooh, here’s another good one, food counter attendant at the airport,” I read aloud, jabbing the paper with my greasy finger. “They offer full benefits.”

“Mmmmm,” M agreed without looking at me. He knew as well as I did that I would never apply for such a thing.

I excitedly tore out the ad from the newspaper and put it in my pocket, then promptly forgot all about it.

Two days later I was throwing my jeans into the wash when I came across the ad again. “Aw, crap!” I moaned. “I meant to call them.” I dumped my clothes onto the floor and ran for the cordless phone, hoping that they were still open at 8:30 in the evening.

"Hey pal. What kind of drink can I get ya?"

They weren’t, I realized sadly as I listened to the unanswered ringing on the other end of the line. I left a message in my most professional-though-somewhat-breathy-and-sexy-in-case-it’s-a-dude-doing-the-hiring voice, informing them that I was interested in the receptionist position, and could they please ring me back?

The next morning, they did call me back, but because some fucking Dick Nuts Douche Bag stole my goddamn cell phone, I didn’t know that they had called back until I checked my messages later that evening. When I heard their message I squealed like a rooting piglet and rang them back immediately, and got an interview for the following afternoon.

And I got the job. I am now the incredibly adorable receptionist at To The Point Tattoo & Piercing in Calgary. So if you were thinking about jamming some steel rods through you genitals or tattooing a likeness of me onto your forearm, now’s the time to do it!

You do NOT want to be around
when this guy sneezes.

.