This has probably been the worst day of my life for at least the last three or four years.

This afternoon I got my first—and if today’s experience is any indication—my last tattoo.

I went to a shop called Two Kats. It was recommended by someone at work. I felt completely at ease with the artist—a guy who called himself T-Bone—the minute I walked in.

He took my design, made a stencil from it, positioned it, and when I gave the okay, started inking. (The pain wasn’t bad at all—certainly much less than what I was expecting.)

I kept glancing over, and things were progressing nicely. It was finally finished and filled in. It looked great.

But he kept inking. I thought he was filling in some missed spots, but it turns out he was embellishing my original design!

WITHOUT ASKING ME!

My design was very simple, very tribal:

And at one point, that’s exactly what I had!

But then I glanced over, and instead of simply filling in some missed spots, I discovered he’d put shadows under everything! Excuse me? Was that a part of my original design?

And now that I see it in all its mangled glory, the fucking shadows under the lizards’ tails don’t even follow the original contours!

JEZUSFUCKINGCHRIST!

I mean seriously…WTF was he thinking?!?

“I was just trying to give you the best tattoo for the money.”

Why didn’t you just give me what I wanted, YOU GODDAMNEDMOTHERFUCKING FUCKWAD!

It’s no wonder I had to sign that paperwork releasing them from all liability!

Before he screwed it up, the ink was perfect. It was exactly what I wanted and I was so proud of how good it looked.

But afterward….well…all I can say is that I haven’t felt the need to cry in years, but I was fighting back tears on my entire drive back home.

Now, not only my dad, but also my friend Mark in San Francisco can say, “I told you so.” My dad, for simply getting the tattoo at all, and Mark, for not going to Palm Springs and letting Mad Doghis artist—do it.

And now I’m stuck with this piece of shit the rest of my life, and there’s nothing I can do about it.

“The shadows are light,” T-Bone said. “They’ll fade.”

Maybe. (According to madhouse in about two years.) But my memory of this fiasco won’t. Ever.

At least I can be guaranteed of it healing properly, because it is never going to see the light of day again.

And now—thanks to that asshole at Two Kats—instead of being able to happily join the fraternity of the inked, this whole episode has turned me off to it altogether. When I see tattooed guys on the street or online, instead of admiring the work (and yes, getting a little turned on) it will only be a searing reminder of how totally screwed I got today. Thanks a lot, T-Bone.