without the bitter...

the snow didn't miss us after all.
it did wait until about 4a.m. to get goin' though,
so i should be able to enjoy the slippery roads well into the day.

i tattoo a lot of folks.
no foolin',
straight up street-style hardworkin' american vacation spot tatblast pounding.
high volume, low flavor.
it's like the prison food of tattooing.
we get the kind of folks who buy an ed hardy shirt at t.j.maxx,
so they won't stick out like an out-of-place sore thumb in the studio!!!
lifestyle-branded chameeleonism.
of course,
the ball-team windbreaker and
the nascar-realtree-camo hat usually gives 'em away though.
you just can't un-ruralize some folks that easily, after all...
and a backwards hat might not cover that red neck all the way either....
but, 
as long as we stick to the basic B's
(and not Boston sports teams, or Beers, either)
conversations can go smoothly.
bullets. bonfires. beards. barbarians. books. boobs. buttholes. boners. black folks.
admittedly,
it's good to lead in with bullets,
which, unfortunately, frequently leads to hunting stories,
whereupon i explain that the client is OBVIOUSLY a small-genitaled capital A-hole,
and anyone who wears animal urine and sits in a tree dressed-up as a leaf-pile,
can definitely chug a fat, veiny, raging one. (which brings us to b for boners)
at that point,
i mention that my firearms are for hunting people.
and this indirectly, more often than not, leads back to black people.
what's funnier to a developementally-challenged,
backwoods backbottom bottom-feeder than a joke involving shooting 'cans??
y'know the one, right?
well,
i can tell ya'll,
it's not the second punchline,
where i tell 'em i'm lookin' to line up my crosshairs on all the wayward, racist, white ameriCANS.
books and beards are usually strikeouts, too, for what it's worth.
bonfires = beer-tard parties for almost all under-25 year olds, so that's an age sensitive topic.
and that's why i talk about boobs and buttholes so damn much.
i will say, though,
that i'd way rather disagree about racism or vegetarianism
than play the superfriendly babypants role.
seriously, my ninjas,
i'm tellin' you;
i don't want to answer any of the stock first-timer questions ever again.
you know the ones;
the queries made by nervous younglings about things that,
i'm sure,
in their heads at the very least,
sound like astute and relevant observations about the tatzappin' brave new world
that they are warily entering into for their very first experience.
i'm sayin',
i just don't have it in me to flit around like a hummingbird of friendliness,
bobbing my head up and down enthusiastically,
while talking in a kindergarten teacher voice,
patiently explaining the answers to inquiries 
i stopped wanting to discuss years and years ago:
-yes.
i've tattooed myself.
-no.
not my own right arm...
because, i'm not left-handed.
-yes.
it did hurt (my future) to tattoo my neck.
-no.
i don't love my job soooooo much.
i just don't want to stock boxes, third shift at a factory, instead.
-probably your skin.
that's where it hurts the most to get tattooed.
-overpriced, simple, and easy.
that's my favorite kind of tattoo to do.......
-do you have any money?
then yes, i doo-doo think that's a good idea for a tattoo.

if you understand where i'm at,
you should realize i'm grateful for the opportunities i'm presented with every day.
but berserker barbarian battle-beasts don't turn down the hot fire any lower than eleven.
sour grapes make bitter wine,
but better vinegar,
and without vinegar,
you don't have a decent hot sauce.
and without hot sauce,
all you've got is weak-sauce.
my work may be prison food,
but my really real life is five-star fine dining.
never quiet, never soft...