Friday

I have the worst tattoo, by far. Bring me your Mom tattoos, ex-girlfriend's names, the knife through the heart tattoos. Show me your barbed wire looking thing running around your arm or your flower above your butt. I have you all beat. Hands down. What do I have? Well, I've had it for 14 years. I got it when I was 18 and at the time it seemed like what I got for a tattoo symbolized everything I wanted to stand for until I died. When I was 18, it was an innocent symbol to show imagination, playfulness, frustration at not getting what you want, the ability to know that playing is the best thing you can do for yourself. Now, that symbol has degraded into something that has shown up on Ford and Chevy trucks for years, something that bomb loaders drew on their bombs before they were dropped during the Iraq and War on Terror. I have..I have...a...Calvin tattoo. My head is hung in shame. The people that see it now think I must have been behind a 1972 Ford F-150 a year or so ago at a stoplight and thought that inspiration must have struck me when I saw Calvin peeing on Chevy emblem, or Calvin peeing on Osama, or Calvin peeing on France. It's sad, I'm ashamed of it now. Here it is (my tat is just of Calvin):


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