It’s been a weird January so far.
Ah, the tattoo. Whether scratched with pen ink into a prison inmate’s forearm so everyone knows that the new fish is Big Gerry’s Bitch, or drawn carefully across the top of a drunk college girl’s ass to be discovered at the end of the frat house sex party, they have different meanings to all of us. Only sometimes, these tattoos go horribly wrong.
These are their stories.
I’ve found that black comedy suits my personality to a tee. Looking at the world, all its ugliness and stupidity, and choosing to laugh. It speaks to something inside me, that asshole nugget buried deep (or not very deep at all, depending on who you ask). It’s a perfect fusion of the masks of comedy and tragedy – somewhere between a frown and a smirk. I laugh without compromising my pessimism.
There’s few other genres that make me cringe as much as I laugh. Or even do both at the same time. It only happens when I really care about the characters. If my life has had one constant, it’s that ‘it’s easy to hate people,’ but that’s the difference. Everyone’s bad here, which makes the whole thing a lot more relative in who I can root for. No matter how vile, despicable, or just plain old fucked up, every character is deserving of love if handled correctly.