The Prison Style Tattoo Gun That Started it All.

November 1, 2012 by mfdaviddeery ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

Here it is friends. The video that started my fascination with building a prison tattoo gun. Well, to be fair, I was interested in jail style tattoos before this video, but this video certainly planted a deep seed of inspiration toward making my own machine, and although I haven’t tattooed anyone with it in a park yet, I’m pretty sure this guys machine isn’t built with a guitar string.

I love in the comments, there’s a guy writing something like,

“You call yourself a tattoo artist and you’re doing this in a park without gloves on? LOSER!”

I miss the good old days when all tattoos were for losers, even the professional, in a shop kind.

Oh well, ENJOY Scott Campbell keepin it real in NYC!!!

Hand poked jail style tattoos. (pictures)

October 31, 2012 by mfdaviddeery ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

BONUS ROUND ONE!

Since you loved the jail tattoo theme so much, here’s some pictures of tattoos I’ve done on various suckers, I mean, friends. Long live stupidity.

Now, get your needle, thread, and pelican ink ready and let’s do this, like this has been done many times before.

Nothin new under the sun. (EXCEPT ROBOTS!)

Jan’s got a full tank of bravery.

I Heart Pain.

Mix Master DJ Werd.

Hey Joe, Where you goin with that tatoo on

your stomach?

Spiders have skulls too.

Unicorn Skull!

This is probably my favorite and this tattoo has such an incredible story in itself that I feel like at some

point, if people are lucky, I’ll tell the amazing story, of my friend Pete, and me, and Snow Monkey, and

Corey all laughing our faces off for a good hour about this tattoo.

LONG LIVE THE JENKINS CREW. I LOVE YOU BRIGHT, YOU’RE A BEAST!!!!

OK, WHO’S NEXT?

My homemade Russian prison tattoo machine.

October 29, 2012 by mfdaviddeery ♥ 1 Comment

That’s right my friends. It’s tattoo time.

Tattoos are in style right now and I’m sure you’re as mad as I am as too how acceptable and mainstream tattoos have become.

Tattoo’s are a fashion statement now.

Remember when tattoos were scary? I do.

I thought, maybe I’ll get a tattoo on my hand, or on my neck. That’ll shock people, right?

Nope. Fashion statement.

I thought, maybe I’ll get a tattoo of middle fingers on my neck. That’ll shock people, right?

Nope. Fashion statement.

I thought, Surely if I get my entire face tattooed like the face of a skull, that would certainly shock people into next millennium and there’s no way I could be an international model making tons of money, right?

I know, this is painful.

You see, that’s the problem. Tattooing has become so refined, and so good and so controlled, it’s almost like the entire myth of tattoos and what getting a tattoo means has disappeared into some overly trendy, over priced, comfortable tattoo shop, with young, hip, friendly people working there, just giving anyone with a fresh hundred dollar bill any tattoo they want.

WAIT, DID YOU SAY, FRIENDLY PEOPLE? AT A TATTOO SHOP?

Well, I’ve got the answer to all the worlds punk rock problems right here my friends. No longer will you have to worry about shocking people with a tattoo anymore because now, with my homemade, Russian prison style tattoo machine, we can take back tattooing into the sketchy, underbelly, dangerous and painful world of fear it belongs in.

That’s right. Who’s down?

Fuck an owl, or a perfectly filled in dragon that costs you one thousand dollars. That aint scary.

You want somethin scary? Let me just tattoo the word killer across your forearm with my homemade Russian prison tattoo machine and you will earn instant respect in ANY hipster neighborhood.

Not only that, I’ll respect you, because one look at this machine and you’ll be like,

“WAIT, is that a guitar string?”

Yes, it is a guitar string, because this shit has to hurt. And instead of tattoo ink, I’ll be using india ink, or the ink from a ballpoint pen, or if you really got what it takes, I’ll burn the sole of a boot and make ink by mixing the ashes with piss and toilet water.

That’s a fuckin tattoo.

No pain, no gain, right?

And no fear of hepatitis, no gain. I’m sick of these pussy tattoo artists crying about guys like me tattooing people’s forearms in living rooms. Fuck that. If bikers can tattoo each other on the way to Mardi Gras, I can tattoo someone with my homemade Russian prison tattoo machine where ever the fuck double A batteries can be found.

What you’re really tryin to say is,

“Hey man, don’t do that, because if you do that, I won’t be able to charge people one thousand dollars for dragons anymore.”

Tough tits, sellout.

And who gives a shit what it looks like? So what, it’s not gonna be as nice as a one thousand dollar dragon. It’s all about the vibe when people see it, and when people see it, they will certainly have the vibe of,

“holy shit, is this dude all there? What the fuck does that say on his forearm? Is that a tattoo or gangrene infection, jesus, this dude is fuckin hardcore.”

Tattoo’s aren’t some fashion statement for hip clean cut white kids to flex. I feel like half the time I see some little 20 year old white kid with a neck tattoo, all I see is,

“Hey, look at me, look how hardcore I am, until I pay to get my tattoo electronically removed because I’m rich and white and can do this now, clean up and still run my fathers oil company in ten years.”

You aint foolin anyone. You aint hard playin words with friends on the L train.

If you were a real G, you would be calling me, and saying,

“Hey MF, I want KILLER written across my forearm, and I want you to do it with your homemade Russian prison tattoo machine. And if you do it today I won’t kill you and rape your dead body, you little pansy bitch.”

YES! THAT’S hardcore.

How I met your mother, if your mother was Mike Tyson.

October 23, 2012October 23, 2012 by mfdaviddeery ♥ 0 Leave a Comment

THE MIKE TYSON STORY.

Doesn’t it just seem like everyone’s trying to hard? Don’t you hate a name dropper? I do. I know him, and I know her, and I do this with them when I want to say who, what, where, and why. If I was gonna drop names, I would make it count. Like I would mention the time I met Mike Tyson in the elevator of the Trump International hotel in NYC. I was so drunk that when Mike Tyson stepped onto the elevator with a blunt, I thought he was actually Kool Kieth. He’s not exactly as big as you would imagine. It was winter and he had a jacket on, but he wasn’t taller than myself and he really didn’t look that brutal, like he could smack my teeth out in one swing. He was wearing a massive medallion, also lending him that rapper look, more than that former heavyweight champ look he would garnish in the gym with gloves and trunks on. I was in the elevator with my then girlfriend Alexis and one other friend, let’s just call him Mr. Brown. Mr Brown was the man with the room at the Trump hotel, he also had quite a collection of exotic marijuana strains, and it turns out he has a better eye for former heavy weight champs than I did at the time, so when Mike Tyson offered him a hit of the blunt, he mearly said, “If you’ld like to smoke some real weed, come visit me in room 545. I got the knockout green.” Mike just smiled as the elevator doors opened. “What room?” Mike said.

Moments later, in the luxury sweet with Mr. Brown, We laughed, drank, and as he lit a bongs worth of chronic, there was a knock at the door. My then girlfriend Alexis peeped through the peephole. “It’s Mike Tyson, with two other guys”

Moments later with a freshly ordered bottle of Dom P in hand, Mr Brown poured us all a glass of champagne. Surely smoking weed with the former heavyweight champ, potentially the greatest heavyweight champ of all time was something to toast! “go on Mike, you make the toast.”

“To weed. If more people smoked this stuff, there would be no more war.”

I’ll drink to that!

On a side note. If I was a betting man, or even a smarter sports fan, I possibly could have made the easiest bet on a sporting event in my life. I met Mike Tyson around 6 or 7 months before he fought Lennox Lewis, a fight many thought would be the comeback of “Iron Mike.” After he left, Myself and my then girlfriend Alexis were leaving the hotel around 5am. We saw Mike and his “friends” hanging outside the front of the hotel. I said to her, “shouldn’t he be training?” what I should have said was, “where can I bet my life savings on Lennox Lewis?”

Oh to be the best!