As it is, my birthday, Valentines Day, happens to be the deadline for a few writing projects on the subject of “Jilted Love.” Valentines Day has become a sort of national cynical holiday for writers as of late. Anyways, the point: the project is a story focusing on an ill-advised trip to the tattoo parlor while I was madly in love with a fiery, punk drummer – let’s just say poor decisions were made all around.
Irresistible
As I know it, there are three types of terrible tattoos:
ONE – The Evil Tattoo Artist
You are at the whim of the artist. Your back is turned, and your worst nightmare happens: the bastard tattoo’d a giant, harry tarantula that covers your nape to maximus. And every time you turn around, you are reminded of your worst nightmare – literally and figuratively.
SECOND – The Drunk Tattoo
You were drunk. You’ve always been an occasional fan of the Powerpuff girls. Your friends dared you. The tequila o’er flowed. Buttercup, Bubbles, and Blossom are now staring back at you from your left ass cheek. The worst part? He mixed up the colours.
Image altered from http://thiago082.deviantart.com
THIRD – The Name Tattoo
As I said earlier, she was a fiery, punk drummer – you never stood a chance.
I covered it up, of course, but for some reason it never bothered me. It never bothered me when she “allegedly” ran off with said tattoo artist. It never bothered me when my friends endlessly barraged me with “I told you so.” And, I think, while the love was much more short-lived then expected, and the ink hilariously will outlast everything but the memory. At least it makes for one helluva story.
