Tuesday, April 9, 2019
Okay, you're at the South Pole. It's 40 below.
The polar bears are jogging to keep warm. In fact, they've jogged all the way from the north pole, their normal habitat (Hey, I check this stuff before I post it.)
You're a detective, on the trail of a sadistic serial killer who is posing as a penguin hunter in the lowest of latitudes. Your only clue is the fact that he has a pair of distinctive tattoos: A grey wolf on his shoulder and a condor on his upper thigh. How do you find him?
Easy. The bastard will be wearing shorts and a sleeveless shirt.
You don't get a tattoo because you like the idea of some hairy biker squirting Chinese printing ink under your skin; you get it because you want people to SEE it.
You know what would be really cool and 'out there?' INTERNAL tattoos. A remote control needle inserted into your lower latitudes. "Mom" written on the top of your spleen. How about a full sleeve tattoo on the inside of your arm? Or a tramp stamp that will only ever be seen by a proctologist?
In fifty year's time the orderlies in the nursing home will be laughing their asses off when they're giving Conor McGregor a sponge bath.
"Hey, Mr. Mac, what's that thing on your chest? Kinda looks like a dried-out aubergine with a splash of ketchup on in."
"It's a futtin' gorilla with a futtin' crown on his head and a futtin' heart in his mout'"
"And this one, on your wrinkly old arm, what does it say? Something about a moose?"
"It's the futtin' Navy Seals motto. Slow is smooth, smooth is fast."
"And that's a leopard on your belly?"
"It's a futtin' tiger."
"Right. It's just, the moles kinda look like spots."
The Mount Wolseley Hotel - Bar. There is muzak coming from hidden speakers, or perhaps this is what the beginning of insanity sounds ...
Okay, its two years since the first novel came out, so the second one should be just about ready to roll through the printing pres...