Showing posts with label My other brother Darrell. Show all posts
Showing posts with label My other brother Darrell. Show all posts

Thursday

Double Gobble



I met Grady in a little town called Vernon, Florida. Grady was missing his left arm, clear up to his elbow...just like Amos Moses. The weird thing was, most of the people I met there were missing a foot, or a hand, or something. I figured they just lived too close to some power lines, or some Gator had been making meals out of them for years, but Grady told me that he had done this to himself for an insurance scam. That is fucking dedication. You can fake a limp, but amputation is forever.


Grady was an avid Wild Turkey hunter....I like whiskey as much as any functional alcoholic, but he meant the actual animal. I told him that if he wanted turkey, I could run over to Subway, and get him a 12 inch sub (on his bread of choice, with chips, and a soda) for like 6 bucks. But he was more into the "mental contest" that is hunting. A turkey's brain is about the size of a walnut. Enjoy the challenge.










Extra deduction because that turkey looks nothing like the outline of my hand.









What this tattoo says about the wearer:

Happy Fuckin' Thanksgiving.








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Tuesday

Don't Play with Fire


Jason played guitar in the worst band I was ever in- Gut Feast...we played at parties, bar mitzvahs, and one very odd wedding. Crappy late '80s metal. We sucked. Like all teenage bands of the day, we were trying as hard as we could to sound like Slayer, without sounding like Slayer. This tattoo is supposed to show that Jay is a bad-ass, and that you had better not fuck with him--or else...

Or else he will unfurl upon you like the black-light poster that inspired this tattoo. And you know that a poster doesn't have to be very big to cause problems. You had better think twice...or ask a friend to help. Or just pay the extra 10 bucks for the framed one. But don't fuck with Jason. Or...








Extra deduction for all those guitar solos. Annoying arpeggio asshole.







What this tattoo says about the wearer:

I am going to live with my parents until I am 30.









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Sunday

Maybe Its Maybelline



When you first pull off the main road, and onto Weldon's property, the first thing you notice is a big sign that lets you know that "If you can read this--you are in range", which is perforated with bullet holes. Weldon owns about 90 acres, in an undisclosed location in Central Texas. It used to be his Daddy's cattle ranch, but Weldon has converted it into a plantation that would have made Bob Marley proud, with a gun collection that would make Iraq nervous. The last time I went out there, he shot a tree not 10 inches from my head. For fun.

Did I freak the fuck out? Yep.
Did I say a word about it? Nope.

Weldon is what is commonly to referred in these parts as a crazy son of a bitch. He was voted Most Likely to Secede by his High School class. Although he has never served in any military organization, he is still fighting several wars, and I like for him to think of me as an ally. I told him once that his tattoo looked like lipstick, and I am lucky to still have 2 nipples, 10 fingers, and no extra holes in my body.






Extra deduction for the goofy font.







What this tattoo says about the wearer:

Watch for me on CourtTV...

















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Wednesday

...Except After 'E'



Whether it is a dog barking a warning, a rattlesnake's tail shaking, or crickets chirping, animals are constantly sending messages to each other. Louie is sending a message, too. A message to all "Ho's" that his "Bro's" have his loyalty, and you will always take a backseat.

But won't it be worth it? His doleful convict's gaze, and impeccable dress sense, should make Louie quite the popular item, in 5 to 10 years. And don't worry about that pesky sex offender status. Who wants to live within 1500 yards of a school, park, church, bus stop, restaurant, or any other public gathering place anyway?











Extra deduction for the tribal muttonchops. And that shirt.







What this tattoo says about the user:

I'm a loner, Dottie. A rebel.








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Thursday

Dual Metal Jak't



This is Donald, and Danald.
These nice boys live down in San Leon, Texas in a sweet tricked out double-wide that they have made into a wood-paneled palace...a shrine dedicated to KISS, and small caliber handguns. Donny (the alpha-twin, with the Peter Criss tat, and bitchin' new jeans) is the wild one of the family, evidenced by his earring ("Only the left ear, I ain't a gay!") and the fact that he got all of his tattoos first. Then shiftless Danny decided to sell his beltbuckle, and bite Donny's rhymes, but got Gene, and KISS in red, just to mix it up a little.


They say you should never judge a book by the cover, and Shake and Bake here are no exception. Donny graduated first in his class, and Danny was homecoming king. Of course, they were home-schooled...but their Mom showed no favoritism. She brought up them boys the best she could after their father ran off to Corpus with that whore. She is also a card-carrying member of the KISS Army among other paramilitary militias.







Extra deduction for the Single White Female 2 (Redneck Boogaloo) vibe.
And for keeping that girl in the trunk in the crawlspace. Let her go, guys.







What this tattoo says about the wearer(s):

Mom always liked you best.








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Tuesday

Tommy Used to Work on the Dock


Oh...wow.
Let us start with the obvious problem with these tattoos.
Alignment.
His back looks like some mulletty Camaro, all covered in bumper stickers. Some are slanting up, some down. Some look like total afterthoughts, which he then had to squeeze in.

I had not seen that image of Randy Rhoads since that last time I saw a "Creem" magazine. Ozzy was carrying him on his shoulders in that picture ( that is why there was only one set of footprints when he looked behind him---what? oh, wrong story) which explains Randy's butt looking so unbuttlike.
One should always avoid trading beer for tattoos, which surely is what happened here.










Extra deduction for omitting Manowar.






What this tattoo says about the wearer:

I am from a really small town.











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Vrooom!!



This tattoo makes me want to rub my eyes. It is an homage to NASCAR's Jeff Gordon.
Or, to be more specific, his cars, some checkered flags, and a trophy.

It is a well known fact that Jeff Gordon can talk to cars, just like Michael Knight, and the guys who drove Herbie, and Chitty-Chitty Bang-Bang. We are just lucky that he uses his power only to help better mankind. I shudder to think what would happen if he turned evil.

Jeff Gordon has won national acclaim for his innate ability to turn left, and as such,
his cars should be poorly rendered on some hot mama's skin, and my friend Kat was just that hot mama. Some of you might notice that the lower strap is pretty low, indicating giant jugs...well
think "socks, with oranges in them" and you have a pretty good idea of what is on the other side.






Extra deduction for making your back look like a grade school boy's History folder.





What this tattoo says about the wearer:

I am the woman mentioned here.











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