Mad Atoms

Call it an inborn instinct to not be content to merely blend in or whatever, but I've always been a bit of an oddball. Unlike the rest of the world, who mindlessly grind through life like gears in a machine until they wear out and retire in Florida or die in some god forsaken sewer someplace, I'm intent on forcing the conventions of society to conform to MY will, NOT vice versa. Which is why my face looks like a giant pin cushion.

Of course, most people don't understand why I'd jam a bunch of metal spikes through my tongue, cheeks, eyebrows, lips, nose, chin and forehead but I wouldn't expect them to. Their hive-like minds won't allow them to comprehend any behavior that deviates from what they've been indoctrinated to view as 'normal' or 'rational', and so, as is common to all clones, they respond with revulsion at things their brainwashed subconscious labels as a threat to the herd. I can see it in the glaze of their hypnotized eyes when they hear me clicking my tongue barbell against my teeth during the college marketing class I'm taking, or when I take their orders at the Outback Steakhouse where I work. Sometimes they say something stupid like, 'Didn't that hurt?' and I just want to scream in their stupid faces, 'Yes it hurt for a little while, but it's better than the perpetual agony of living the life of a sheep like you!' But I don't, because I'd probably get fired.

Really though, I don't really care what people think, whether they like all the metal in my face or not. As if I actually want a bunch of Honda Civic driving, Da Vinci Code reading tools get what I do anyway. Please. If the kind of person who'd prefer to watch Dancing with the Stars over Law and Order – Special Victims Unit during the same time slot suddenly approves of my lifestyle choices, then I know I must be making the wrong ones. Seriously, if Howie Mandel offered me a million dollars to take all the metal out of my face and start spending my time watching his lame show, I'd say 'no deal', because my piercings are a reflection of who I am - a person who, for starters, possesses the brains and taste to prefer the reruns of House on the USA Network over the rest of the garbage polluting the airwaves at 9 o'clock Friday nights.

I'm telling you, now that I've expressed my individuality I know there's no going back. Never again will I be part of the herd. In fact, I was just contemplating whether getting my nipples or ball sack pierced would more accurately represent the intricately complex uniqueness of my soul for the next time I have a hundred bucks saved up. Or maybe I'll get something in Chinese tattooed on my neck or a Celtic band around my arm. Now that's an idea...