Tokyo Smash

I’d say my customers, sorry, patients, are about 70% male. More likely to do something stupid? More likely to regret it? No idea. But this girl came in today with…I don’t even know. It was grotesque. Hello Kitty sucking off Godzilla with the Tokyo skyline burning behind them. On her stomach. I bet that was fun for some guy.

It was kind of fun for me.

Truth is, I haven’t had a girlfriend in two years. After Clare–my ex-wife, for the 3 folks playing at home–left, I just sort of bounced around the local parlors. An inker here, a tramp-stamp aficionado there. It was easy, like going to Burger King. My way right away. But Clare got all fucked up a couple of years ago, painkillers and fruity rum drinks, (she was always like that, all hardcore lawyer pantsuit stuff but sucking down bowls of fruity bullshit that ends in -tini and isn’t a fucking martini) and came over to my house falling all over herself, with this really cute haircut.

Yeah, so I’m an idiot. See the front page of this fucking site. But I missed her, and she was willing, and she didn’t say she was sorry in the morning or anything. She made me breakfast. And I never heard from her again. So there hasn’t been anyone. I guess I’m still waiting for the rum to kick in again and pitch her up against my door.

Or for Stephanie to let me lick her flensings. Hear that, Steph?

That’s what I thought.

Rum is for assholes. Scotch. Yeah.

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