There is a lot to like about a tattoo shop.
For one thing, you get tattooed there. That buzzing is so relaxing! Aside from that, though, I just like being there.
Everyone there tends to be kind of weird. I like weird.
The profanity level is high. The level of general inappropriateness is high. There’s art everywhere, including on the skin of the people.
I like talking to the artist about what I want, and then seeing the drawing when it’s done. It always amazes me when someone can take an idea and turn it into a picture. The whole process of having color applied to skin is fascinating.
But it is the absolute randomness and wild tangents of the conversations that I really love. The ones between the tattooers and their clients, and the ones between the tattooers themselves. I always come out of a tattoo shop having done some laughing. And maybe a little friendly swearing at the person trying to tattoo my chest while he is making me laugh.
What do we talk about?
Neuticles. Treating the scrotum with respect. Japanese bondage porn in which women in spike heels stomp on men’s scrotums. Is there such a thing as too big? Who has the wildest “too big” story? What sort of fetishes do we get or just not get at all. Adult onesies.
The relative desirability of various suicide methods. A semi-serious discussion of the impact on survivors. Reasons not to commit suicide. Taking out everyone you know and then killing yourself as a possible way to avoid leaving survivors who might feel bad if you offed yourself. The desirability of leaving a note. Or, in my case, timed blog postings over the next several months after my death. What? Don’t you want to keep hearing from me after I’m gone?
We also had a talk about exactly the world could be rid of the scourge of gingers. Ways in which the last few remaining red heads could be exploited for profit. Whether or not any shade of red hair is attractive. How red is too red.
I’m ready to go back anytime
What should I get?
.