Inside Doug's Head

I am not a number, I am… What's that stuff they make glue out of? I'm that. Forever swirling, forwards and upwards, but always sticky. Sometimes, a little sad.

A few million years ago, the people of planet earth figured out that if they jabbed a ring through the nose of an angry 2400 pound animal, they could make it do their bidding by tying a rope through the ring and pulling really hard. Even after all these years, Bill Clinton is still trying to work out a similar system for Hillary.

Whenever I see a modern human with a ring jammed in their nasal septum, a dangleage looking like a great gob of shiny snots, something that should be wiped or blown into a tissue, all I can think is, would it be rude of me to ask them, “What, exactly, is the look you are going for with… that?” And of course, I would gesticulate disparagingly towards their olfactory appendage with a semi-erect phinger. Apparently, because I’m thinking, the animal didn’t have a choice, but you do, and why would anyone choose, that.

Of course, I already know the answer. Maybe not the individual specifics, but certainly the broad stroke generalities. There’s always something about a nasal proxy for genitalia. You can put a diamond in anything dead, but it’s still dead with a diamond in it. Sorry, that non sequitur was the result of a concurrency issue with watching Sunny, S7E12, and I got a little distracted. What was I saying?

Oh, yeah. Nose rings are physically outwardly gross, they were used to control animals, and wearing one makes you look mentally ill. Yes! That’s the ticket! Stop mutilating yourself. You are perfect the way you are.


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