Spanking Blog ponders this approximately 85-word tattoo and wonders “can you imagine pounding that ass doggie-style every few days, week in and week out, seeing that verse heaving in front of you every time?”
Me, I’m the kind of guy for whom the catastrophic apostrophic mishap in line six would be a boner-killer. But wave the magic laser wand and deem that fixed, for the sake of the thought experiment. I’m still reminded of an old chestnut of a Robert Service poem called The Ballad of Salvation Bill.
It’s about a preacher trapped in a Klondike cabin all winter with a sinner of a prospector who has tobacco but no rolling papers. The prospector eyes the preacher’s bible, the preacher won’t share single page for smoking, and it’s a long hard winter for awhile. There’s violence, and melodrama, and eventually there’s an agreement: he can smoke the Bible pages, but he has to read them first. But you guessed it:
I smoked and smoked from Genesis to Job,
And as I smoked I read each blessed word;
While in the shadow of his bunk I heard him sigh and sob,
And then… a most peculiar thing occurred.
I got to reading more and more, and smoking less and less…
It would be a terrible shame if this tract of a tattoo had a similarly depressing effect.
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