The look: black Vans, lo-slung thin jeans, rock tee, baseball cap worn over choppy, obviously-dyed black hair, key chain, skateboard (never used), rucksack, lip piercing and ARMFULS OF RUSH JOB TATTOOS – armfuls of tattoos that Johnny Knobhead got within a matter of six months. Sad lad jumped in, needle first, and had a fucking techni-colour Koi Carp the size of a teenage Dachsund pricked into his arm, didn’t he. What was it about the above clothing that suggested anything other than transience? That neo-punk skater swish is fleeting. He’ll have ditched the clobber, packed away his ‘My Chemical Romance’ CDs and be listening to something else next year. But the tats remain. Look at all those tits in the 90s who got devils on the arses like Robbie and dolphins on their hips like Mark Owen. We laugh at them now, think they’re a bit common. You’re next, fella.
As seen in the current issue of Ten Men.