Youre never going to love all of another persons ink like you love your own (assuming you do - there are plenty of us with terrible life decisions chronicled on our skin). A time-honoured tradition amongst the heavily-tattooed is the casual snarking on the bleedin state that other people get themselves into under the iron. Lord knows mine arent great - Ive got a Black Flag tattoo that my sister inked on the back of my neck that looks more like dirty laundry, and a freehand backpiece that looks like it was drawn by a ten-year-old. As gloriously sh*tbox as my scratchy punk rock blackwork is, however (and I wouldnt change a thing), I dont have a grenade-c*ck rearing up across my chest. I mocked Brocks unfortunate commemoration of a bad time in his life quite a lot in a previous article, but it bears repeating: the sword at his throat looks like a large spam bannister with a highly-explosive scrotum, the two aimed directly at his perma-snarling mouth like the ever-present threat of uncomfortable loving in prison. Im not sure what he was thinking, given that every job hes ever had has required working shirtless. Perhaps it was a clever bit of Derren Brown style Jed mind-f**kery, so that everyone watching him work would subconsciously associate him with an aggressively rampant erection. If so, its possible that hes overcompensating for something. Just a thought.
Professional writer, punk werewolf and nesting place for starfish. Obsessed with squid, spirals and story. I publish short weird fiction online at desincarne.com, and tweet nonsense under the name Jack The Bodiless. You can follow me all you like, just don't touch my stuff.
