This is my younger brother. The only one I got left. In this pic he’s muscle memorizing a line drawing with a ol’ Dringenberg attached to the pencil to get his hand used to the weight. He’s never tattooed. Never even held a running zapper.
But he has been hounding me to tattoo him since he was fifteen. I always resisted because I didnt feel I was ready, he’s got the best skin on the planet. Anyway, recently he’s been squatting at my place for a bit after returning from a long trip through Central America, and naturally, he’s been hitting me up for tattoos again. I dont know why we didnt think of this earlier but decided that I’d do token piece on him only if he’d tattoo the same image on me as well.
Next up was me so, without hesitation, I proceeded to throw the sheets fast into the wind. A precautionary measure that I hoped would reduce the chances of me freaking out and yelling at him. Inexorably, he jumped right into the deep end and started pulling lines without hesitation. He didnt even choke up when Matt showed up and lurked over his shoulder (thanks Matt for whispering a few extra tips to him while I was trying to find the prize at the bottom of the Black Label bottle).
Word combinations cant really describe how stoked I was to be getting a tattoo from my brother. Especially his first one. It was undoubtedly one of the most rewarding experiences I’ve had under the needle.
So, many of you have heard my inflated stories about being raised by wolves in Alaska. We’ll, its all true and so was he. Beforehand we had pondered an image that would encapsulate our experiences in the Frozen. None of you Americans have heard of the Salmooseagle but its basically the most bloodthirsty beast to ever roam the high northern hemisphere. And here you have it…
Not bad for a first shot if you ask me. Thanks Isaac!