One day, Willis decided to get a tattoo. This is the story of that fateful day.
What in the world am I thinking? Standing in front of Slowpoke's Tattoo Parlor in Ranson, I asked that question. We'll chalk it up to a mental aberration.
Tats, Tats, and more Tats. Should I get a nekkid woman on my chest? Nuh uh, just a few small spots to cover smaller spots that the pretty ladies at the radiation clinic in Winchester already tattooed on my poor bod.
Those are the specks they indelibly tattooed so they wouldn't nuke the wrong parts of me. There were about seven visible I but I added three so that it would come out symmetrical. The artist said no to the one on my Adam's Apple, though. Too, much wattle-that turkey neck us old folks get-particularly those who have had cancer radiation treatments.
Flat on my back at the mercy of artist, Jason. My wussy little tats paled in comparison to his. No, No, not yet. I'm not going to try any like that just yet! I had two complaints during the entire time at the parlor. One was that damned vinyl covering on the table.
Jason performed in an professional manner. In fact, the whole operation was pro from beginning to end. Oh, that second complaint? That was the female robot looking over my shoulder when I went in the back to p*ss. The pain? Nope, just a little discomfort. As I type I feel some itching. Now there are places on my bod where I wouldn't want a tattoo. I'll let you guess.
Good golly, do I look that goofy? Maybe I'll get a full face tattoo. But those wee tiny specks that looked like a pubescent case of zits are now hidden with REAL targets. I know, not much body art on ole Willis. But who knows, I'm thinking of going back. Shoot, why not?
Here's a better view-at least that goofy look is missing. I hope no one takes aim at me. I'll wait for a final judgement till I'm all healed but from what I've seen so far, if you HAVE to get a tattoo, I'd say Slowpoke's is a right good choice.