"So," says me, "why don't I add a little ink to my chest?"
Hell, I'm a pale kid that abhors sunlight; this makes me the perfect canvas for some ink-slingin' fool at my tattoo shop.
"So," says me, "maybe I can get Cameron [our resident genius tattooer] to do some of his swallows, he's a great artist/painter and no one has them yet, so I'd be the first."
See, I can't deal with tattoo 'flash' art, I have to have original work on my skin. Some people are cool with flash; I'm not. To each their own.
We did a little powwow session, going for a 'newer-school' approach to the birds that would soon be on my chest.
We decided against blue, because, well, most swallows that you see on folks are blue.
All the work I currently have on my body is either black or red so, viola, red shades with slight golden highlights it was.
Two and a half hours later, TA-DA, I have my birds but they are minus the color and the banners in their beaks.
"Why aren't they done?", my intrepid fan-base wonders [I don't really have a fan-base, I just like to feel important by typing such nonsense.]
Simple.
The work is higher up, reaching to my collar bones on each side. Let's keep in mind the rather important fact that I'm a wiry 145 pounds. No fat on this kid, so that equates to not much padding.
Okay, I've had work done all over the right side of my back, from neck to belt-line.
I've had work done from the top of the wrist, all the way down to right above my elbow.
I've even had work done on the entire base of the elbow.
The only thing that even approached the discomfort of the collar bones was maybe the balls of my wrist or balls of the elbow.
The collar bone sucks, heinously.
It felt as if I was getting an icepick stuck in my neck, repeatedly, by a deranged Muppet with a spastic colon.
Or maybe someone was grinding out their lit cigarette on the aforementioned spot after drinking 37 40's of Schlitz.
Or, possibly, what it feels like to get a screw drilled into anesthesia-free flesh and sinew, right after you've been hit by a gas truck.
I could be a bit off here but after the second hour, I was feeling a bit similar to the above descriptions. Granted, the fact that I had had three hours of sleep the evening prior and had just worked ten hours without a break might tend to factor in just a lil' bit -- I didn't think about that until after.
Please keep this in mind when you plan your next tattoo.
You've been warned.
Oh, look -- beer!
-Scotty
PS Currently taking applications for:
Any girl that when she hears the word 'independent,' it immediately makes her think of the claymation Christmas special, 'Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,' where ole' Rudy utters the above-mentioned word as if he's got dual golf balls stuffed up his little sniffer.
Please submit applications ASAP.
Answered on a first come, first serve basis.
No rainchecks.
Void in Canada and Rhode Island.
Four out of five dentists recommend sugarless cud for their patients that chew cud.
Hell, I'm a pale kid that abhors sunlight; this makes me the perfect canvas for some ink-slingin' fool at my tattoo shop.
"So," says me, "maybe I can get Cameron [our resident genius tattooer] to do some of his swallows, he's a great artist/painter and no one has them yet, so I'd be the first."
See, I can't deal with tattoo 'flash' art, I have to have original work on my skin. Some people are cool with flash; I'm not. To each their own.
We did a little powwow session, going for a 'newer-school' approach to the birds that would soon be on my chest.
We decided against blue, because, well, most swallows that you see on folks are blue.
All the work I currently have on my body is either black or red so, viola, red shades with slight golden highlights it was.
Two and a half hours later, TA-DA, I have my birds but they are minus the color and the banners in their beaks.
"Why aren't they done?", my intrepid fan-base wonders [I don't really have a fan-base, I just like to feel important by typing such nonsense.]
Simple.
The work is higher up, reaching to my collar bones on each side. Let's keep in mind the rather important fact that I'm a wiry 145 pounds. No fat on this kid, so that equates to not much padding.
Okay, I've had work done all over the right side of my back, from neck to belt-line.
I've had work done from the top of the wrist, all the way down to right above my elbow.
I've even had work done on the entire base of the elbow.
The only thing that even approached the discomfort of the collar bones was maybe the balls of my wrist or balls of the elbow.
The collar bone sucks, heinously.
It felt as if I was getting an icepick stuck in my neck, repeatedly, by a deranged Muppet with a spastic colon.
Or maybe someone was grinding out their lit cigarette on the aforementioned spot after drinking 37 40's of Schlitz.
Or, possibly, what it feels like to get a screw drilled into anesthesia-free flesh and sinew, right after you've been hit by a gas truck.
I could be a bit off here but after the second hour, I was feeling a bit similar to the above descriptions. Granted, the fact that I had had three hours of sleep the evening prior and had just worked ten hours without a break might tend to factor in just a lil' bit -- I didn't think about that until after.
Please keep this in mind when you plan your next tattoo.
You've been warned.
Oh, look -- beer!
-Scotty
PS Currently taking applications for:
Any girl that when she hears the word 'independent,' it immediately makes her think of the claymation Christmas special, 'Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer,' where ole' Rudy utters the above-mentioned word as if he's got dual golf balls stuffed up his little sniffer.
Please submit applications ASAP.
Answered on a first come, first serve basis.
No rainchecks.
Void in Canada and Rhode Island.
Four out of five dentists recommend sugarless cud for their patients that chew cud.
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
Now let me tell you about my stainless-steel pair ... preeetty.
When I hear the word "independent" I think of not "needing" anyone....