Tuesday, 14 July 2015

A load of old tat.

If there's anything that bothers me more than the usual things that bother me, it's things that people think I'm bothered about said bothersomes because they assume they know something I don't. Either it's because I'm past it or I don't really have any to speak of, apparently tattoo's are beyond my comprehension, an artform far too neauveau for my squinting judgmental windows to an increasingly bitter old soul.

No sooner have you even had the audacious richness to question the practice, anyone who's ever had one done, (which is 99% of people these days.....roughly.....I've done 0% research, the latter stat there is 100% accurate.....these bracketed titbits go on far too long and render the sentence incomprehensible, I can only apologise, my bad) lurch down your throat (yes, I remembered where I was) for merely having a difference of opinion on the subject. It's becoming a cult; a snobby clandestine reawakening that stirs an unbridled sense of elitism amongst what is basically a group of graffitied lemmings.

Although, maybe there's something good to come from this phenomenon? Perhaps we'll inadvertently eradicate racism from the face of the earth by covering our skin entirely in doodles. Colour and creed disputes will become a thing of the past as we we all walk around looking like interior design magazines blending in with our garish furniture.

God would be so proud of us, if he existed of course, vandalising your boring old blank body canvases to narcissistically etch your innermost expression into the eyes of anyone who crosses your path in your quest for uniqueness. Why did it take us so long to realise this was the best way forward? Could it be that we're just bored, have too much money and have already quenched our thirst on every other addiction that life has had to offer? You used to know where you stood with tattooed folk. They used to be weirdo's. What if this wave of body art is just proof of an almost World War Z-like frogmarch into a Twilight Zone-esque world where there's only one tattoo-less man left standing before a multi-coloured band of inky needle wielding artists disgustingly lusting over themselves to smother the last pure piece of epidermis in civilisation.

I'm not denying there are some beautiful tattoos out there, but why did we have to take it this far? We're constantly told addiction is bad.....nicotine, alcohol, flappy fish.....but nobody seems to think bankrolling previously struggling art students whilst allowing people to get addicted to covering themselves in permanent ink to express themselves is a bad idea.

How about we tattoo our babies? They're gonna end up doing it anyway so why not just get them inked-up young whilst they're not too busy, at least they won't be addicted, you'll completely skim over that, which can only be a good thing surely. We could use keyhole surgery to tattoo them pre-birth once we all finally get bored of pre-tattoo babies, it's gonna happen. "Here comes little Abigail sporting some lovely floral sleeves and barbed wired leg, such a beautiful tattoo, ahem, I mean baby....almost forgot about the human inside that thing for second."

How about tattooing your pets? Everyone loves a pampered pooch, how about shaving said pooch and get some tats inked onto that bad boy, he'll be the talk of the kennels with that doggy-art when you're away on your hols staying out of that pesky sun to avoid ruining your own. There's a whole market untapped here, this blog is becoming a mine of business opportunities, feel free to take what you want.......I'm an unselfish oracle of business acumen and believe in sharing my wealth of wisdom with all of my barely a handful of readers, safe to say my secrets are safe within these pixilated walls of online douchebaggery.

They're already tattooing eyeballs, how about parts of the body that you can't see? You could get poems tattooed onto your intestines, limericks tattooed onto your urethra, your online passwords and bank card PIN tattooed on your rectum, nobody would even wanna look in there no matter how much they wanted to empty the contents.....of your bank account I mean, don't lower the tone.

I'm looking forward the day you're all in rehab for your arty-afflictions, muttering to yourselves how wish you remembered what a sun-tan looked like whilst you sweat off the last of your protein shake. Maybe they'll let you colour in your straight-jackets for old-times sake. I'm actually thinking of cornering the market and inventing a type of therapy for the soon-to-be-known-as "post covering up myself in inky applications of artistic expressions that looked good at the time but now feels like a bad dream and a huge embarrassing mistake disorder".....the name is a work in progress, even the acronym is a mouthful, I'll be working on that as studiously as curing this generation of this shallow addiction to aesthetics. 

What's wrong with you all? In the 60's, them lot were addicted to pot, the 70's was spiked with acid. I seem to remember a bag of glue becoming the choice of drug in the 80's, the height of bad taste, par for the course back then. Ecstasy entranced the 90's, cocaine became widespread in the brave new cosmopolitan millennium. Then what? You got addicted to body art? You should be bloody ashamed of yourselves.....you're a disgrace to addiction. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some cross-stitching to do and my last Werthers awaits before I take my teeth out.

No comments:

Post a Comment

Go on, tell me what you think.

Another Original Blog meta name="robots" content="index, follow" />