BRAINPAN LEAKAGE

NOTE: This blog entry has been edited. None of the original material was removed, however there have been comments added. You will find them italicized and within parentheses. For the record, I did remove my note of 1/19/11 instructing people to stop trying to engage me in pedantic pissing matches over the origin of duct tape just because they are humor impaired. I’m still instructing you all to not engage me in pedantic pissing matches whether you are humor impaired or not, so that hasn’t changed. However, I thought maybe I’d add some more to it… Here goes.

It seems that there is a sudden upsurge in searches for both Duct and Duck Tape. Per the search terms logged it would appear that there is a rather robust “duct/duck tape fetish” community out there. Wish I’d known before writing this particular entry. Probably would have been much funnier than just the serial killer and stupid people angle. At any rate, due to the enormous number of searches leading to this entry, I have been taking heat from some folks who want to point out to me the errors in this piece. It seems they didn’t get the satire. In at least one instance, said individual even elected to be especially nasty about it. For the record, the name/email address he/she entered remained intact. That was not my doing. Obviously it was aimed at me, but he/she missed.

So here you have it. The original blog intact with some added commentary to help the humor, satire, and parody impaired. You probably don’t know who you are, but trust me, we do.

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Have you ever wondered about duct tape?

I mean like wondering why it’s so popular with serial killers, kidnappers, and the like? At least, that’s how it is on TV. Oh, and just so we are all on the same page, no I’m not a serial killer. Nor am I a kidnapper. Never even played one on TV. Yeah, yeah, I know… I write fiction novels about them, but that’s different.

Also, just so we have our ducks in a row, we are talking about duct tape. Not duck tape. “Duck” tape doesn’t exist (Yes, actually, it does). Duct tape does. (Yes, actually, it does too.)

I have a friend (yeah, I know, amazing eh?) who worked in the music biz as a road manager. Her husband still does, and he handles cameras, lights, and all that jazz. Big deal stuff. They actually swear by “Gaffer Tape.” This stuff is great… You see, gaffer tape is kinda like duct tape on mega doses of steroids. In fact, it makes anything major league baseball players have been using to jack themselves up look like a placebo. Seriously. My friend has even noted that gaffer tape will hold someone on the side of a tour bus, at highway speeds, for at least 50 miles. She refuses to go into the exact details as to how she knows this, except to say that she has irrefutable anecdotal evidence. My guess is someone made her mad and she taped said individual to the side of the bus. She’s dangerous like that… In fact, she and E K get along really well, which is pretty scary.

She also tells me that it works great as a depilatory too – as long as you don’t mind losing the first three layers of skin along with the unwanted (or even wanted) hair. Good thing she’s never given a roll to E K, or I might be bald…

But, as usual, I digress…

The thing here is duct tape. It was originally designed to seal up duct work, hence the silver/grey color AND the name, duct tape. Makes sense all of a sudden, doesn’t it? I mean, “duck” tape was really kind of a WTF kind of name, dont’cha think? After all, what would a duck need with tape? Besides Donald, I mean. And, even though they make glue out of horses, and gelatin out of beef, it was really hard to fathom making tape out of ducks. (This part here, in bold, would be the joke. The part where it talks about making tape out of ducks. If you don’t find it funny, hey, no worries. I don’t hit them ALL out of the park, and we all have different sense of humor, as you will see below…)

So, anyway… I think maybe I need to run down to my basement and grab up a roll of duct tape to keep right here on the corner of my desk.

Why?

Because, like I said at the outset, it seems to be the prime choice for serial killers and kidnappers – not only as a restraint, but to keep their victims from screaming for help. Just slap a slice of the ol’ silver sticky stuff over the mouth and no sound escapes. Of course, these days if you happen to be a more fashion conscious criminal, designer colors are available, but I’m a purist. Just give me the silvery-grey stuff and I’m good.

But, I still haven’t answered your question, have I? I mean, why would I need duct tape on hand?

Exactly.

“Huh?” you grunt.

I need it for my hands. I figure if it works to “gag” victims, maybe I can tape my hands together so I won’t be able to get myself in trouble by answering stupid emails. (This would be yet another part of the joke. For, as you can plainly see from the comment thread below, I didn’t get out my roll of duck, duct, 100 mile per hour, gaffer, scotch, masking, packing, or any other tape soon enough.)

Of course, it might not work. I might need something stronger. Wonder if my friend has an extra roll of gaffer tape laying around… Something in a nice, yellow “caution” sort of color would be good…

More to come…

Murv

NOTE: In reality, Mister Arendt, who commented below, has the real story.  Apparently, however, he didn’t see the humor in my post since I revised history for my own uses. Regular readers here know when to take a post seriously – which isn’t often – so I can only assume he was new to the Leakage. For the whole story about DUCT/DUCK tape go to http://www.ideafinder.com/history/inventions/ducttape.htm

Mister Arendt’s Canadian counterpart didn’t see the humor either. I had once heard a rumor that Canadians, as a general rule, were the most polite people on the planet.  That has been my personal experience up until now…

I’ll apologize up front – this isn’t one of my funny ha-ha blogs. But, by the same token it is a missive some of y’all have been screaming for me to post ever since this morning, so here goes…

Not long ago I wrote a blog about an impending change in my style. My hairstyle, to be more specific. I told everyone that I was going to be losing the ponytail. Getting myself a respectable haircut.

Some of you posted comments. Some of you didn’t. Some of you obviously read the blog, some of you obviously didn’t – we’ll be getting to how I know that in just a bit. All I can say though is, tsk tsk tsk to those of you who blew it off and didn’t read that entry. (Grin)

One of you – yes, you “John Of The Corona And Chocolate Milk Fame” – even commented about waiting to see if I was really going to go through with it. Dude…I mean, that right there was practically a “double dog dare” in its own right. But then, I highly suspect you already knew that. (LOL!)

Anyway, I had set the date for today, so this morning I posted a tweet and status update on all my social networking pages to let everyone know the time had arrived. Imagine my surprise when the next thing I knew people were crawling out of the woodwork screaming, “What? No! You can’t! Why haven’t I heard about this? Say it ain’t so! What brought this on? Etc…”

I have to say, it was interesting to watch. Some of you, very dear friends in fact, seemed to go immediately into a state of mourning. Wailing, black veils, and the whole nine yards. I could actually smell the matches and hear the Bic’s as candles were lit all across the country. It was, to say the least, very profound.

In fact, it was just plain touching. It gave me pause. I sat back and ruminated about whether or not I should actually go through with this.

Then I got into the car and went down to SuperCuts. Yeah… I still had myself a full blown LOPITOFFAME…

We arrived at the SuperCuts on St. Charles Rock Road, late morning. We selected this particular hair-cuttery due to the fact that it wasn’t terribly busy, and it was also on the way to Target – for the French readers that would be, Tarr-jaey.

Fortunately, I was able to get into a chair right away, and when my stylist asked what I was after by way of a cut, I told her that after 20 years it was time for the ponytail to go.

Her jaw dropped. After a moment she said, “And I get to do it?”

I replied, “Yeah.”

Her face spread into a grin and she said something akin to “Oh Goodie!”

Apparently ponytails are kind of out of style or some such. That’s what  the Evil Redhead told me, anyway. Judging from the stylist’s reaction, I have to assume maybe that is true, because she was all about getting rid of it. At any rate I figured that since I had dropped the first shoe, I should just keep making noise and drop the other.

“Do you mind if my wife takes pictures,” I asked. “Some of my fans are wanting to see this.”

Of course, the use of the word fans lead us right into the whole, “What kind of fans, what do you do?” Q&A session. When she found out I was an author, and what I wrote, she started getting excited all over again. It seems she figured she just might have a famous person in her chair. Well, I didn’t correct her on that point. I figured my ears might be safer if she really and truly believed I was actually important or something.

As it turned out, all of the ladies in the salon were having a ball with this. In fact, the gal working the chair next to mine was picking back and forth with my stylist in a manner that pretty much reminded me of when Morrison and I joke around on tour.

Once the official “ponytailectomy” itself was done, she started in trying to do something with the fine mop that is my hair. After parting it, spraying it with water, then combing it out, she leaned down and told me, “I promise you won’t look like Moe when I’m finished.”

E K was already standing off to the side, snapping pictures and giggling uncontrollably. Obviously she was having fun, because as you well know, the Evil Redhead never giggles. She might cackle with evil glee, but giggle? Nope, just not her thing.

At one point during the styling, when we found out my lopped off tail wasn’t suitable for use by Locks of Love, my stylist asked the Evil Redhead if she wanted it.

Of course, E Kay turned to me and said, “I wonder if we can get anything for it?” then burst into more uncontrollable giggling.

I’ll be honest. For a half-second I actually considered auctioning it off for charity, but then I came to my senses. I really didn’t want my hair falling into the wrong hands if you know what I mean. (wink wink, nudge nudge, Witch’s secret handshake and all that…)

At this stage of the game, my stylist joked that maybe she should put some of the trimmings from the floor on Ebay. At least, I’m pretty sure she was joking… I guess I should go looking for M. R. Sellars hair on the web because I might need to bid on it or something.

After 15 or so minutes, the job was done. I paid the bill, gave my stylist a nice tip, then hung around for a few minutes talking with the ladies in the salon about my books. When we eventually left, I had the distinct impression that one or two of them might be visiting a bookstore in search of the RGI novels.

So, there you have it. The hair is gone and I’m sporting a new style. Now I just have to get rid of some of this extra tonnage I’m carrying around.

At this point it feels kinda weird. My neck isn’t warm anymore, my head seems lighter, and I get a bit of a shock each time I reach back to straighten the tail that is no longer there – a mannerism I’ve had for 20 years now. I have a feeling that one will be hard to break.

Other than that, the kid doesn’t seem too traumatized, and E K actually likes it. Of course, she was in charge of the style selection and had a confab with the stylist before the Lopitoffame Procedure began.

She did make one admission however – apparently she misses having a “handle”… I’ll let y’all take there where you will, suffice it to say, it’s material for a blog of a different color…

More to come…

Murv

NOTE: Click photos to enlarge…