neighbors,
i F*ing haaaaaaaaate the third week of june.
i'm serious.
up here,
right now,
the woodsly goodness has been transformed into
an american flaggotry-laden, leather-sodden,
chrome-besmirched massive messy traffic-jam of orange and black.
...and not like lesbian inmates on netflix, either.
this is worse.
much worse.
my least favorite of all my unliked subsects and genres is
ruining the natural order of the natural world en masse.
chaps, and not like dry lips, nor cowboys, nor british fellows,
are all over the place,
being worn by shaven-headed, barrel-bodied,
hulk-hogan-handlebar mustachioed meatheads masquerading as easy riders.
ugh.
let me be blunt, and honest, and very clear:
i hate bike week.
if you're very lucky, picky, spoiled, or privileged as a tattooer,
you might never ever ever ever have the misfortune to be called upon
to do a harley-davidson bar and shield logo.
or,
and this is specifically if you've effed up your secret universal credit score
bad enough to be running downhill parallel to me,
you'll be tatzappin' one right over a boiled-lobster sunburn,
on a big-booted bro as a closeout coda to your big fathers day action.
yuuuuuuuup.
so far,
i'm not really feeling this day.
anything can happen,
but i'm pretty sure it won't.
bike.
week.
is weak;
never quiet, never soft.....
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