The Tattoo Blues
Dennis Avner aka The Stalking Cat killed himself last week. This was no ordinary human being; he had tried to transform himself into a tiger parody with the help of facial tattoos and extensive body modifications. For some strange reason he also took female hormones in order to grow a massive set of breasts. As you can see from the video, he looks absolutely nothing like a real tiger.
Being a massive tattoo enthusiast, I find people like this fascinating, but at the same time I can’t help thinking his excessive tattooing contributed to his downfall, and ultimately, his death. Tattoos do make you more interesting; people often ask me about the ones I have – people that would not normally spark up a conversation with me – and I like that. It’s like a substitute for having a real personality. As you get more heavily covered you actually start to feel your personality change – but as some famous person once said (can’t remember who, mind):
“Be careful who you pretend to be, because you are who you pretend to be.”
By choosing to get his face tattooed in such a way, in effect Avner made himself into a monster and alienated himself from the community (I would imagine). Getting a tattoo is a brave act (or possibly just a stupid act), and you need to have a strong enough personality in order to rise above the stigma that inevitably comes with that. There are some self-made circus freaks out there such as The Enigma and Lucky Diamond Rich who carry it off well. But they have larger than life, outgoing characters. Most of us don’t.
The trouble is the more you have – the more you want. And you only have a limited amount of space to fill before they creep out of your sleeves and over your hands and up your neck. It is very addictive. Another factor is that getting a new tattoo cheers you up if you’re feeling down. With a couple of exceptions where I got a spur of the moment tattoo (such as in Amsterdam, last Halloween or on Friday 13th this year) – I’ve had most of my tattoos during shitty periods of my life. This is only a temporary fix, however, and if you don’t actually deal with the problem directly – you’ll just end up getting another tattoo to cheer yourself up again. And so it goes on.
I read somewhere recently that Britain is the most heavily-tattooed nation in the world with 1 in 3 now having some ink. But even so, by having 20+ tattoos (and counting), I’ve pretty much ruled myself out of having a relationship with any bird who isn’t a massive tattoo fan. This might be different if:
a) I was incredibly handsome
b) I was incredibly witty and charming
c) I had a massive cock and a great physique
d) I was rich
But sadly, I have none of these things. And still I don’t regret having any of my tattoos done (yet), mainly because I am very stupid.