Tattoo Master 17

Tattoo Master 17

This is a trade publication and so this must be a studio where you are working.

I recently noticed, to my dismay, that I had developed spots on my… er… manhood. Now if you go to a modern VD clinic, you will find that they now refer to it all rather politically correctly as STIs. As I sat there waiting to be seen by the doctors and nurses, the most obvious, unpleasant infection was to my brain with the Jeremy Kyle junk they were showing on TV there.

While sat there, it began to occur to me that the fact that three weeks before I had been tattooed on my penis, which was going to be something that, although they wouldn’t acknowledge during the examination for professional propriety, would surely be the subject of conversation in their canteen afterwards. But what I then began to wonder was, would the tattoo be blamed for the spots on my male member? I have known for a long time that tattooing was always a soft target for blame culture. As it happens, they didn’t. In fact, these days it is likely that we professional tattooists have done so much for tattoo art’s rehabilitation, that most of the dutiful and caring people in that hospital were probably tattooed themselves.

A lot has happened in the few months since I wrote my last editorial. I seem to have entered into the oddest phase of my life so far – doing this magazine has become a form of Homer’s Odyssey. I have met some of the greatest characters in the world, been into their studios and workplaces, been enlightened by them, and come to the conclusion that there is a God out there. Or at least some form of unfathomable purpose. If you were to understand the fated experiences that have led me to meet the new friends that you will read about in these pages, you would find that no matter what disasters befall you, there is nothing to fear as it is all going to turn out fine and dandy.

So the fact that my car has broken down, and the wife has finally given up trying to understand why I do the strange stuff I do and thrown me out is really not that big a deal. Putting the mag together has been a gas. It has cost me a fortune and stolen every minute of my time, it has taken me over 1,000 miles to reach the people that I interviewed and it leaves me wondering what is going to surprise me next. I still haven’t got a clue how to work a computer, a cell phone, or a tape player, but I do know that the people I meet are somehow the very people that some cosmic spotlight is illuminating for a reason.

For this issue I deliberately delved into nostalgia by seeking out more long-established, non-conformist, freebird individualists who probably didn’t get the limelight they deserved but have a lot to teach the rest of us. As an oddball in society myself I reserve the right to lead a colourful life too.

So, did I get a nasty bought of the Val Doonicans?

Mind your own business!