 Friends, tell me, how weird are you? You’re living in a world where things get weird on a daily basis. Am I right? Surely, some of that weirdness must have rubbed off on you along the way? Stuff that you do that most people who might stumble upon your weirdness might go, “Ewwww!” You long time readers of this blog (all two or three of you) know that Mr. Robin can lean a little toward the weird hisself. Though mostly I like to point out everyone else’s weirdness as I post this nonsense. We also know about Mr. Robin’s fondness for snakes (oops, almost did a Trump there)…I misspoke, make that unfondness for snakes. Even though I hang out here at The Compound with people named Terry Two-Fingers, a fellow who charms rattlesnakes for the tourists over by Freedom, that doesn’t alter my innate fear and loathing of serpents of any kind. In a post earlier this month, we discussed fundraising activities by the Pathetic Order of the Jackrabbit, Original Charter (P.O.J.O.C.) that included a spirited game of Rattlesnake Red Rover and an evening of entertainment centered around Water Moccasin Mambo dancing. I put on my brave face when I posted that. Truth be told, I’d have headed to the North Slope of Alaska to avoid such shenanigans around here. And, here’s a confession for you. Mr. Robin has a tattoo on the left cheek of his butt that reads, “Mortuus est bonum nisi serpens!” – translated from the Latin is “All the good snakes are dead!”…or words to that effect. But, I digress… So, it was with dismay that I watched a segment on News Channel 4 out of Oklahoma City that was done by a CBS affiliate in Poughkeepsie, NY about a woman offering therapeutic snake massages. Yeesh! Now, here’s a little more Mr. Robin weirdness. Mr. Robin doesn’t like for people to touch him, so the thought of ever receiving a hands-on massage is well…yeesh! Now you turn that into a snake touching Mr. Robin…on purpose…as therapy…well, that’s just (sorry, I just threw up in my mouth a little bit). The news segment was made in connection with National Snake Day, which was this past Monday. National Snake Day? What manner of atavistic heathen would propose a national day of observance of f#*king snakes? Now I’m feeling queasy again. The head snake handler/creepy massager is a woman who calls herself Serpentessa. Serpentessa is a (we are NOT making this up) snake priestess at Dreaming Goddess massage and tattoo parlor in upstate New York. As she guides the six-foot snakes onto the massage table with a client aboard, she whispers in their ear, “Just enjoy them and feel them” or to paraphrase Bill Murray, “Feel the snake, be the snake.” Our snake priestess can’t force the snakes to do anything. She just drops them on the victim…er, client…and each snake “follows its own path.” All together now, Yeesh! The snakes glide along said client’s body wrapping around the feet, the head, and even resting on the neck. It begs the question, has anyone seen my shotgun? “They tone and stimulate the vagus nerve in our body and that releases endorphins and oxytocin,” Serpentessa is quoted as saying. “Those are the feel-good hormones.” Uh huh. Feel-good hormones? Really? The only thing it would stimulate in Mr. Robin laying on that table is a heart attack. High Priestess Serpentessa says people come in to get intimate with snakes because: they’re looking for healing or they (the client, not the snake) want to feel empowered or they’re just trying to get over a fear of snakes. Again, where the hell is my shotgun? That 12 gauge makes me feel empowered and helps me get over a fear of snakes as I blast them. So, there you have it. Fearful empowering healing for a mere $300 for 90 minutes. Oh, and the best part? Dreaming Goddess massage and tattoo parlor accepts no responsibility if one of their snakes decides your vagus is beyond repair and decides to choke and eat you. My advice? Stay the hell out of New York state, but if you must go, keep the shotgun handy! That is all! Comments are closed.
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