Of all, we believe, there is never too soon for Temporary Tattoos to be real tattoos that you laz off, no problem, Sunday afternoon, $5, no scars, no nothing, maybe a little itch for a couple, but nothing.
For a month, just a lie like a rug in double meanings, straight across the upper torso: "Irish Love-Pixie" bannering over a lucky-charmer green dude with oversized giganto-fists looking real pisser, couple gold fronts, mixed pot of doubloons, spray-cans, and rust-gears. Smug little four-leaf hat, nasty grin, shirt with a heart on it, standing on nothing.
Nothing for life, but a month, no shirts, all jackets, sweaty clubs, dark glasses, shining white fucking teeth? Nothing but.
Tats, piercings, interchangeable as hell, right on, right on.
Goddamn future, that is.
Extremeness is nothing without novelty and novelty ain't nothing with no change, and youth gotta have it all.
Let's do this, lads and ladies.
Straight.