Sunday, August 28, 2011

Bad Ink



You know, you almost had me there with your cool flier. Maybe I'd get some ink like the young folks: an "Angel of Death" like my young artistic friend drew on my arm with a Sharpie a few days ago.

That might help me cultivate a tough-guy Biker image. I'm not a man to be trifled with. Don't start none, won't be none--understand?

Then the Redhead noticed you spelled "available" wrong.

That would be just my luck.

No spell-checker on the needle.

11 comments:

  1. Funny you should mention this. When I was in my early 20s in New Orleans, married to my first wife, whose nickname was Ginger (short for Virginia, which was also my mother's name, but that's something apart), I got a snootful one night and went to a tattoo parlor in the French Quarter to have Ginger written atop a red rose that was already on my left forearm, the result of another snootful some years earlier in San Francisco.

    The tattoo "artist" wrote the name in script, not printed, and he wrote Finger instead of Ginger.

    I am not making this up. It stayed on my arm until I had it lasered off in my early 50s. The red rose is gone too.

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  2. You know what I noticed.....Tattoos done "while you wait."  How else could they do a tattoo?  Things that make you go hmmmmm.......Yes, I think if I were going to get one...it would not be from this establishment!! 

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  3. Yes, I noticed that too.  I don't know what other options there would be.

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  4. My mom's name is Ginger.  People often assume that her name is short for Virginia, but it's just Ginger.

    I kind of like "Finger."  Mysterious.  I would have made up a different story every time anybody asked.

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  5. I had a boss once with part of a finger missing. He would make up stories too. The one he told me was that a Chinese soldier bit it off during the Korean War.

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  6. Ray, have you totally lost control of that woman? Weren't you a Marine?

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  7. Yes I have.  I don't even try any more.

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  8. I should have went brown...

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  9. Puhlease. No tatoos. Think of what it will look like when we are about 80 or 85. Yecch. 

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  10. 80 or 85?  Never happen.  Males in my family never live that long.

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