Art Dump: Tattoos for Others

Random person on deviantArt asked for this. I have no idea if she actually ever got it done, as I create and molt devArt accounts like a new snakeskin skirt that looks SUPER AMAZING and IS GOING TO BE THE BEST and WORN EVERY DAY THIS TIME I SWEAR MOM until I wear it twice, it starts to itch, and smells like, well, dead snake. Then off to the internet ether it goes.

Someday, I imagine all my abandoned devArt/Elfwood/etc. accounts are going to gundam up into one hideous, malformed and backgroundless beast and come looking for vengeance on the cruel creator what left it in the web equivalent of an abortion clinic dumpster; thank God I didn't get good at drawing proportionate bodies or people without spina bifida until way later on, or I'd have to worry about them, you know, walking after me all upright.

I'll... get... you... even with my question mark of a spine!

Hahaha, dat tumory arm

Needs a background, eh?

*Why not STARS******

He didn't end up getting it, if only because he got himself kicked out of the military for smokin' the ganja, getting hauled in for Operation Golden Flow, and then promptly surrendering AND ratting out all his friends. Pretty sweet design though, right, Space Cowboys?

Has she ever seen a gun? Let's pretend she hasn't so it's just a little sad. 

If you're going to ask a person to draw you a tattoo, it behooves you to ensure they are skilled, are fairly reliable with completing tasks, and that they draw in the style you like.

It also helps if they have experience drawing whatever it is you're looking for; for example, if you want a dragon of a European style, and the only dragon said artist has to their name is an Asian monstrosity with fortune cookies that invoke a Georgia-O'Keefe-ordered-Chinese vibe, well. Like the coat hanger said to the excited fetus, prepare for disappointment.

Why yes I did own a few deep-chest-bodied dogs, why do you ask?

 

This was for Mike. Mike was another guy I met on the ol' dA, except unlike Random McWhat'shertits up there, I actually liked the guy a lot, particularly when he brought me in on a project of spectacular distaste. I mean, how could you not love a guy who would order up the tattoo above? He ended up quitting dA too (if you needed another example of how neato the kid was) but we Facebook friended, so, it's pretty legit you guys.

Did I mention the re-appropriated superheros as fan characters? 

ADVENTURES!

 

Anyways, any of you kids want a design, keep ol' Tennaners in mind, eh? Eh? 

...where are you going?

Surely the Internet Needs MOAR GIFS.

Flew today, and while poo-gas smells were at a blessed minimum, the nature of our jets is that they are very old, very dirty, and let's face it- you know that "not-fresh" feeling doe-eyed preteens murmur to dutiful, tampon-packing moms? Imagine that sensation ALL OVER.

  MOSTLY ON YOUR FACE, THOUGH. And of course, today is the day I run out of my little wet-wipes with the soothing this-herb and cleansing this-botanical, so here I sit with a handful of those Clorox wipes because for reals, I feel too disgusting to be seen even in textual format. My primary concern at this point is that The Roommate will order food and then do that thing he does where he doesn't hear the VERY LOUD doorbell and it will weigh heavy on those manners my mother beat into me, thinking of that poor wage slave at our door, treading water in the 100% humidity out there, until I finally get up to answer it.

And don't think I can just hit The Roommate until he is made aware that his food is here; one of his uncanny abilities is to be randomly and inexplicably shirtless, and apparently making the seventeen year old at the door witness his bare chest is somehow more offensive/trashy than his oily counterpart, resplendent in t-shirt from 4 am and sweatpants issued by the military. So off I pad in my resentment and guilt (which does nothing to further the attractiveness of this situation, as you can imagine.) I pause at the top of the stairs and look down the darkened well.

"Maybe I should leave the light off," I think. "Then they will only see that there are hands holding money, surely that won't be threatening."

"...maaaaaaybe not."

So then I suck it up, hit the massively unflattering overhead lighting, and pound down the stairs. Note the change in verb there? From pad to pound? It's not an intentional thing, kids- the acoustics are conspiring with the lights to make me as monstrous as possible. It is impossible to descend those stairs without sounding like you are attempting to Riverdance and your teacher was Derek Vinyard.

So this kid's tip is like, quadrupling with every Jello-shaking stomp, and just when I am feeling like the most hideous mockery of human girl conjoined with Hutt, something clicks. Or falls off like a load off a truck. I decide, eff it, I was the six year old who wanted to be a T-Rex when I got older; let's own this scene.

 Even with the flying- can we say Spirit Animal?

 

 WHAM WHAM WHAM GREASE GREASE WHAM and the door WHOOMPS open, and I'm 

   because T-Rexes have many teeth AND much attitude, and then I actually behold the delivery guy, 

       He's.... beautiful...

 ...

At least The Roommate is fairly good at comforting me when he finds me fetal-style in a corner:

 

Art Dump: Comics

Tennaners' Log:
Star date: 44731
Mood... silly.