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THE CHOPPING BLOCKTHE CHOPPING BLOCK
By Ronia Blake


I’m going to let you in on a little secret. There will be times when I will write this column drunk. Actually, I don’t like to refer to it as “drunk”. “Clever” would be a more appropriate description. I’m often very clever. Sadly, there seem to be people out there who erroneously believe that they, too, wield this magical power. An email I received recently proves that I can expect some of these very people to write in to TCB. This is a great example of a mere mortal attempting to be clever, yet in the end being just plain stupid. Roll the clip…

Dear Chopping Block,

Ronia you’re kidding. Oh, big suprize (sic) that you’re doing a gossip column. I guess barflys (sic) can get there (sic) own writing jobs pretty easy these days. I drink too. Maybe I should go write a book. Get a fucking job.

Yawn. First of all, Einstein, SPELLCHECK is your friend. Second, I’m sure the obvious omission of your name anywhere in this email is purely a coincidence. I’m sure you really meant to include your name so we’d all know the author of this brilliantly scathing letter. Right? Yeah, right. Me thinks you might wanna lay off the drinky-drinky, tough guy. Learn to spelly-spelly while you’re at it.

Next!

Gory story time. I’ve heard that a local tattoo artist is really wishing he could take back his recent decision to get a Guiche. For those who don’t know, A Guiche is a piercing located between the scrotum and the anus. Gosh, that’s pretty hard-core! It sure would suck if something went horribly awry with a piercing like that! What’s that you say, Mr. Anonymous Informant? Something DID go horribly awry? Hold your cookies, kids. Apparently, there’s an artery near the location of this particular piercing. The general consensus, I’d gather, is that it’s a very bad thing to pierce this, or ANY (for my remedial students), artery. Unfortunately, this poor gentleman had to learn this lesson the hard way. Geyser-like issues had to be dealt with. To add insult to injury, the healing process required that he wear a maxi pad at all times for a while. I’m sure all of his friends will gladly make use of this “story that you bring up to fuck with your friend when he’s trying to score with some chick” jackpot. Ah, live and learn.

THE CHOPPING BLOCKWord on the street is…

If any of you are involved in illicit activity that could potentially land your ass in the pokey, there is a certain rock star bass player that should be avoided at all costs. He can be identified by the sound of DIMES BEING DROPPED. I, personally, think that ALL bass players should be avoided… but enough about my personal life.

The term “Hell on Wheels” took on a whole new meaning at the recent Hank Williams III show at Stubbs. Apparently, some drunk & surly guy in a wheelchair (No, not Red River’s Rollin’ Romeo, Steve.) was antagonizing club-goers, hurling insults, and even trying to goad a few people into a fight. WITH HIM! Cruisin’ for a bruisin’. For real. Alas, there were no takers, despite his valiant effort (Duh!). He did, however, manage to leave a profoundly disturbing impression on a few people.

I wouldn’t have believed it if I hadn’t heard it straight from the horses mouth. A favorite neighborhood fixture is getting fucking married in October. Ever-present at Emo’s, Casino El Camino, and Room 710 (and couch, after couch, after couch), Red River’s award-winning (2004 Drunk Award for Biggest Beer Bum), neo-Bukowski malcontent has finally decided to join the ranks of the blissfully wedded. I’m taking bets on whether or not he shows up at the altar in his infamous pajamas. Congratulation!

Here’s a little side note to Larry Stern, photographer for Rank and Review. My email inbox is chock full of death threats from upset readers aimed at you for going behind my back and sticking that fucked up picture of me in the last TCB. I’m worried. I hope nothing horrible happens to you. Just in case, I’d sleep with one eye open from now on.

Until next time, kiddies… Fuck You.

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