Saturday, April 11, 2009


We've been unbelievably busy here at Tiki Tattoos. Like I said, I'm pretty sure it's because we're rockstars. Or ninjas. Rockstar ninjas.

I've been piercing a lot myself lately. Eyebrows, conches, lobes, septums, oh my! As always, the deal stands: If you let me pierce you, I'll do it just for tips! That means I save you tons of money, and to provide extra incentive I've compiled a list of ways you can spend your extra cash after you leave here with a brand spankin' new piercing by yours truly. The list is as follows.

How You Can Drop Cash
1. Buy a narwhal
2. Fake mustache!
4. Pick up a game like Dungeons and Dragons or Magic. Cast Magic Missile on the darkness.
5. Disco CD!
7. Food to feed the goats at the petting zoo.
8. Rhino costume!
9. Rhinoplasty?
10. You can always leave the piercing room at Tiki, walk over to the tattoo room, and get yourself some new ink.

That's that. If you do happen to spend your cash on a narwhal, bring that thing by so I can check it out. Those guys are sweet.

Make it do,

Friday, February 6, 2009


Long time no talk. I missed you.

Big news here at Tiki - We have a brand spankin' new vending machine. I named him Juan.
I also taped pictures of dinosaurs and bodybuilders onto him, just to help him man up a little. He's been doing well so far. We've stocked him with a plethora of delicious snacks, including fruit snacks which are, in my opinion, better than...Well. You know.

I've also been piercing more. Hold tight, loyal followers - before you know it, I'll be needle-deep in your (insert body part here). And then you'll skip off into the sunset, the happy owner of a shiny new piercing. I'll stay at Tiki, awaiting the next wonderful customer. Life will be good.

I'm also solidifying my plans for this summer. When I'm not piercing, I'm usually studying, and I've decided to do my honors thesis on body modification. If you happen to be interested, I'd love to talk to you about body modification. I don't bite, I promise.

Nom nom,

Thursday, January 15, 2009

It's freakin' snowing.

There's something you all need to know about me. I feel as though it's a piece of information vital to our relationship. I've tried to hide it from you, but to no avail. It's time to come clean:

I hate snow.

Not like, a little. A whole lot. Unnatural, inhuman amounts of hatred. I can't stand to be near it, play in it, or drive on it. Especially the last one. I am epically bad at driving in snow.

So, today, when I woke up to see what I considered to be a snowstorm of apocalyptic proportions, I was less than enthused. My partner says it was only a couple flurries, but I refuse to be coaxed into enjoying the snow.

I fishtailed and hyperventilated pretty much the entire way to the highway. I repeated the mantra "ohmygodohmygodohmygod" about nine thousand times just for good measure. One I'd slipped and slid my way into a parking lot, I called in stuck. It's like calling in sick, but with more nervousness and less bacteria. Fortunately I'm one of those people with a total inability to hide my emotions, and I'm pretty sure I accurately conveyed to Niki that snow is the bane of my existence.

My partner, who is fearless and very good looking and exceptionally talented at driving in any condition, came to pick me up. Just to demonstrate how much better he is at this sort of thing than I, he decided to pick up some Man Tools at Home Depot on the way home. I stayed in the car grumbling about how I should have gone to college in Mexico. Ole!

So, now I'm back at school, hiding from the snow, and my poor frozen car is somewhere in a parking lot. Hang in there, Toyota.

I hate snow,


Thursday, January 8, 2009

Welcome back, me.

Hello, loyal followers.
For the past month, I suspect you have been sitting at home, scratching your peach fuzz, wondering just where the hell I've been.

Because I'm a college student, my place of residence of subject to change on a fairly regular basis. When break rolls around every year, we all get kicked off campus and sent to wherever the hell we can find food and booze. College students love booze. I mean. I don't drink, officer.

Anyway, I've been living somewhat on the lam for the past few weeks. "On the lam from what?" you might ask. The answer is that I've been relocating about once a week in an attempt to avoid the crippling boredom that creeps up and sneak attacks whenever I don't have any papers to write or exams to study for.

I've been in Saranac Lake, which is beautiful but also located in upstate New York. Thus, it is tops of my list of Places To Aim My Destruction Lasers When I Take Over The World. While there, I tried snowboarding for the first time since I was an innocent (?) and energetic (?) child. EPIC FAIL, ladies and gentlemen. I've made it my personal mission to furthermore avoid winter sports at all cost. I would, however, take first place in the "Hiding From The Snow Under Thirteen Blankets" competition.

I didn't stop travelling after Saranac. I watched a drunk firespinner hone his craft in Rhode Island, experienced the striking pretentiousity (I made that word up. If you use it, you owe me a quarter.) of the upper-middle class white protestant area of Connecticut, and watched my first ever James Bond flick. I considered leaving the piercing industry to become an English spy who sleeps with ungodly amounts of attractive women, but I just love you guys too damn much to go anywhere.

So I'm back, at least until the next time Connecticut College decided to make its students homeless and bored.

If you're in the area, come by Tiki and see me. I'm back in the swing of things, baby.

...Okay, that was just creepy.

If you come to San Francisco,