The Sherpa's Scribbletatts
Once, when I was working as a grapefruit vendor for the mob in Tijuana during rainy season, a passing blind Sherpa told me not to look so hard.
“You can only see when you cannot see.” the blind sherpa told me, his gnarled hands clutching a pencil box for charity and a half-eaten Snickers bar.
“When you cannot see, the universe will reveal itself.”
We sang ancient Sanskrit hymns until dawn before being rousted from our campfire by a pack of wandering muskrats in search of truffle.
So we wandered past the Cayan Underpass and over the Hills of Prangladesh. I offered him some mead wine and a few sheckels and bade him on his way at the crossroads by I-59.
But I pondered the Sherpa’s words. And stopped staring at the sun.
Later, I found out the Sherpa opened a tattoo parlor on Ventura. Scribble Tatts, half price.
I still see the signs of his wisdom today.
Buy 1 sleeve, get two types of Hepatitus free!
Undeserved glory of the current young generation displayed in all it’s head scratching stupidity and misplaced conceit .
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Thanks for the appetite supressant, Db1. Breakfast is ruined
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Why can’t you youngun’s be more like that nice Bruno feller?
The great thing about youth is that you do things with absolutely no thought of the future or negative consequences. Instant gratification. The endless chase to be hip and cool amongst one’s peers. But time catches up on us all. And when bleeth above is 60 she is going to look like shit and be the shame of her grandkids.
What these guys said. ^ I’m conflicted with that Bruno feller. If all his tunes had that poppy Earth, Wind, and Fire/Commodores vibe I can dig it.
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Vin doesn’t want blue balls. Fuck it. Let’s watch some 20 year old Zooey with the creamy neck to get him revved. Revved, I says. Son. Where’s Wedgie and Dr.Bunsen?
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I am still not convinced I should ever get a tattoo.
Her tattoo artist should be slapped. She’s disfigured. I hate tattoos. I sure she was once an attractive girl.
It’s possible those are henna drawings.
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If so, they’ll wash off with the rest of the stench of that herpster after a 37 minute shower being scrubbed by chimps with concrete loofahs using Comet™ and Turtle Wax™
If thats the case, I volunteer to Turtle Wax her.
In her case, it’s “Scribble Titts”, not Tatts.
Someone needs to inform Sherpachoad (no, not the titular Al Pacino character) that the gaybag Boy George look died out probably around 1985, or waaaaay before he was born.
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And no, tatting yourself up like a Rorschach blot doesn’t bring it back, yo.