I Don’t Understand Piercings, Either

A month ago, I wrote an article (here) about not grasping why people get tattoos. And, because I’m aiming to come off as more crotchety than Old Man Clemens, now I’m rallying against piercings, which I find equally baffling.



Let me start out by saying I don’t hate all piercings. I’m not Amish, so pieced ears are fine. Pierced nipples don’t move me either way, though I interpret them as saying “I definitely don’t require the use of condoms.” (Also, if you’re a girl with those Whac-A-Mole nipples that hide under the boob’s surface like missile silos, barbell piercings do a good job of keeping your warheads at DEFCON 3 or higher.) And hood piercings are fantastic homing beacons for the folks that slept through health class and couldn’t locate a clit to save their life because vaginas are terrifying mazes that resemble Predator’s mouth.




My problem lies with piercings that go beyond the aforementioned, like those seen on the bleached blond orc to the left. Gauged ears? Why? So the Chipmunks can run a train on your earlobe as Dave Seville pleasures himself and tapes it? And don’t get me started on the Monroe piercing, aka the metal booger that you can’t wipe away. Looks like all the peanut butter in the world still can’t get Fido to go down on you with that metallic abomination in your visage, you duckfaced jackass. Smart dog.


If you have a weird piercing, fine, whatever. I’m sure there’s a great story about what it means to you that you tell every guy five minutes before he jets a load across your back. Just know that there is nothing rebellious whatsoever about your stupid metal and all of us laugh about it behind your back. Man, that’s the cuntiest thing I’ve ever typed. I feel like Claire from The Breakfast Club. Score.

Tagged as: Piercing.