If I remember correctly, the name of the guy out there on Vancouver Island who did my tattoos was "Zane."
Nice work Zane. I still got 'em.
Zane had a tattoo place in Victoria, and he was a cool enough dude, but I could not for the life of me get across to him what I had in mind for that angel on my forearm.
Zane always had a few buddies hanging around, with their pit bulls and stuff. I remember going home with the cuffs of my pants shredded because all these pit bull pups had been chewing on them.
Zane played it pretty straight. Wouldn't allow you to bring your six-pack into the premises. But you could get fourteen sheets to the wind and stagger up there and he'd tattoo anything anywhere.
As long as you signed the waiver.
So I says to Zane, Dude, I want a angel like what Jimmy Page has in the middle of his records.
Zane has no clue what I'm talking about.
Fuck man, let's go to the record store. I'll show you...
So Zane on his roller skates and I skate/stroll a couple blocks and I show him the angel on those Swan Song discs.
We get back to his studio, and he's got the radio on, and a Rolling Stones tune comes on, and he's running his needle up the left leg of my angel, and he says to me "I like dancing to the Rolling Stones."
And he starts dancing.
While he's running that needle up the left leg of my angel.
Long story short, I got a few extra jabs with that tattoo needle, and while he did a great overall job on that likeness of the Swan Song angel, it appears to any casual observer to have a dick.
Yes, a male appendage.
There's a tattoo on my forearm of an angel with a fucking dick.
Thank you Zane... thank you Rolling Stones!