I’ve always wanted a tattoo of some type, but was always afraid to get one.
Not because tattoos are permanent and I’d be 80 and regret it–I already have a list of crimes that I want to commit once I’m that old, like:
1. Stealing clothes from The Gap.
2. Walking in women’s dressing rooms at Victoria’s Secret.
3. Licking strangers out in public.
4. Punching babies.
…and that’s because no one really arrests old people. I could do anything!
I think being old is like being a superhero; you get lots of attention, praise and respect, but secretly, everyone fears you. Essentially, being old is like being Batman. Think about that the next time your Pop-Pop takes a dump at the table during Thanksgiving dinner.
Anyway, that’s not the reason why I don’t want to get a tattoo. I’ve honestly always been afraid of the tattoo artist f*cking up what I want. Like, what if I go to a tattoo artist and the following situation happens….?
“The Kids Don’t Get It” Theatre Presents….
“The Kids…Goes to the Tattoo Parlor”
Walks into the store and sits in waiting room chair. As I sit, a woman in glasses and beehive hair races by, her head bent low. The tattoo artist walks out of the back room wiping his hands with a rag as he turns to me.
(me pointing at the door): Hey, wasn’t that Govenor Pal-
(Tattoo Artist, nodding his head): Yep. She came in for some work done.
(me, putting down magazine, shocked): Really?
(Tattooed Artist, nodding again): Tramp stamp on her back. Says, “Off-shore Drilling” with an arrow pointing down. What can I do for you?
(me): I want a tattoo. I want Sam Jackson’s lightsaber from Star Wars. I like Sam Jackson. I plan on blogging about him.
(Tattoo Artist leans over and studies my arm while drawing a flaming bird on his face): I can do that, I think. Let’s go.
(Tattoo Artist and I walk into tattoo parlor. Once I am seated, I warn Tattoo Artist that I may faint. “It’s ok”, he says. I faint at the sound of needle, warmly peeing on myself.)
(me waking, rubbing my eyes): Is it over?
(Tattoo Artist standing up from chair, wiping hands. Nervous.): Uh….yeah.
(me): What’s wrong? (looks at arm). You f*cked up my arm! This isn’t a lightsaber! You drew a penis on my arm! F*ck!
(Tattoo Artist shrugs shoulders): I can only do skulls, words and penises. At least I colored it purple. $40.
And there you have it. I’m afraid of going there and ending up walking around with a dick on my arm. I’d be like Laura Bush.
So instead, I’ve decided to do the tattoo myself. And in case I want it done over “professionally”, there’s already a template for them to work on, thereby removing the possibility of having the dreaded “dong arm”. This makes the situation error-free.
And so, without further ado, I present to you my arm tattoo idea:
Naked Ladies Riding Dragons