Saturday, October 11, 2014

Tips for Your First Tattoo: Maintenance and After Care

**I asked my well-decorated friends for tips on tattoo after care, and Mr Dante Machete here delivered with charged enthusiasm. Slow clap, everyone. No, seriously, and do it in a circular motion so it looks rehearsed. Thank you. I planned to collate what tips I could collect in an organized list, but my awesome friend here handed over a mouthful of after care wisdom. I couldn't have done it better myself. I'm kidding, I actually could, but Mr Machete's comprehensive list here covered everything so well, you'd suspect he did gift wrapping in a mall somewhere. 

Dearly Beloved Sweet Nuts, meet the dashing Mr Dante Machete. Don't be a dick, say hi to this wonderful gentleman and his list of Tattoo Maintenance and After Care.

His right sleeve will be completed in a session or two, he's got a Japanese chest piece that's to die for, and you watch out for his left sleeve, too. This is the kind of tattoo placement that I'm after, but gayer.

The color and the well preserved shading tell us that his applauded tips work.

Thank you, Mr Machete.

He has more tattoos than I have now, so I'll shut my pie hole. He knows what he's talking about. Like a boss, Dearly Beloved, like a boss. 

For those of you Not in the know, Mr Dante Machete used to DJ in 102.7 Star FM (April 2008 to July 2009), and then he moved to 107.5 Win Radio (November 2010 to april 2013). He had roughly four years in the airwaves, as a DJ no less, and that makes him more awesome than awesome. He is awesomesauce. This probably explains why his Facebook page is closing in on 10,000 Likes. I knew him when he was doing Technical Support (was it last year, Mars?), but he has since moved on to studying law. Yes, Dearly Beloved, he's taking up Law in the University of the East where he'll probably end up as one of the main bad asses of Junior year next year.  

I call him Mars, but he's straight as an arrow, a 5'11 250 lb arrow that can punch anyone until they're unconscious. Again, Mars, thank you for this list. 

Dante Machete's Rocking Tips on Tattoo Maintenance and After Care

Tattoos are works of art. And every work of art, in order for it to last, needs care and maintenance. Here's what I will share regarding tattoo care, starting from after getting it done until it becomes fully healed. 

1. After getting your tattoo and getting it properly wrapped in the shop, the first thing that you must do when you get home is to wash it with warm water and soap (Safeguard is good). Wash it with your hands only. Do not use a towel. You need to use your hands because your hand produces warmth. Warmth helps in washing to let the ink properly set under your skin. The reason why you should use warm water is so that you can remove and melt away the blood clot that developed on your tattoo as well as to remove the unwanted discharge that your skin produced when it was tattooed. 

2. You need to keep your tattoo clean. If it becomes infected, expect a crappy looking tattoo with a crappy surface. You want to keep your skin smooth when it heals as much as possible. 
Mr Machete is completing his right sleeve with this piece by his artist, Icos Dongogan.

3. Be sure to hand wash your new tattoo with warm water and soap for the next three to four days to remove the discharge your skin produces every time you take a bath or whenever you feel you need to do it. 

4. Take necessary steps to treat your new tattoo like a wound to prevent bacterial infection. A tattoo is actually a wound and in order for you to heal your wound properly, you have to dry your wound. Either you take antibiotics to prevent pus or you can put rash cream to let it dry. You can do both depending on your preference.

5. Remember that if you will be taking antibiotics like Amoxicillin (500mg) thrice a day, you should not take alcohol while on medication. Drinking alcohol while under medication negates the effect of the drug. 
Because you don't want to mess with this guy and his tips.

6. For people who can't resist alcohol, you can always use a rash/tattoo aftercare cream like tattoo goo that you can use externally.

7. A good cream that I'm recommending is Drapolene Cream which is indicated for the relief of nappy rash and for use as an adjunct to baby care hygiene for the prevention of nappy rash.Drapolene is indicated for the relief of urinary dermatitis in adults, and as an adjunct to patient care hygiene for the prevention of urinary dermatitis.Drapolene is indicated for the symptomatic relief of minor burns, limited sunburn and the effects of weather.

It works wonders and I have used it personally. Your tattoo is sure to be dry within 3-5 days. You need this cream to prevent scabbing and to let your tattoo heal faster. It also helps relieve itching. The current price of one tube is about Php 236.00 at Mercury Drug. Apply the cream as needed.

8. Never ever scratch your tattoo when it is itchy! I think this is one of the most important things that you can do for your new tattoo. If your tattoo is scratched while it is still not fully healed, your tattoo will be damaged and the money and pain tolerance you've invested will just go to waste. If your tattoo is big and you have multiple sessions left, it helps if your would is in good condition to prevent your artist from retouching it. If your artist goes back and forth, it will just take extra time for your tattoo to finish. Plus, you will experience more pain. So be considerate and help your artist by making sure that your wound heals properly.
Rock and be proud of your ink. Take care of them well. They will last you a lifetime.

9. Important reminder: Do not use petroleum jelly to keep your tattoo moisturized. What petroleum jelly does to a new tattoo is that it pulls away the ink from your skin. It causes your tattoo to be less colorful, less full, less vibrant. It is no longer advised by tattoo professionals. 

10. Keep your tattoo moisturized by using lotion. Use natural and unscented lotion in order to prevent skin irritation.

11. If you want your tattoo to always look good after it heals, don't let your skin be dry. Keep it moisturized with lotion. "Kung hindi ka maarte nung wala ka pang tattoo, pwes ngayon na may tats ka na, maging maarte ka na."

Monday, September 22, 2014

It Could be Worse

I find it Sorely irritating when some bitch throws a pity party over the littlest shit. Really. There's just no end to it, there is always something to complain about, and I find that attitude most disgusting. So she meets Mr Right, but she can't get over his small dick and cries about it in a series of pathetic Facebook statuses. He gets a job that offers to double his last salary, but Human Resources draw the line on cross dressing. He meets his biological mother for the first time in twenty five years, imagine the drama, but he can't get over her cross eye What if it's hereditary, he asks. Oh motherfucker, please. 

It is bad enough that you are dead, isn't it. We will bury your ceaseless whining together. 

Things find a way of turning from bad to worse. They always do. And if you will allow me, my Dearly Beloved Sweet Nuts, let me influence your perspective. We will bury your ceaseless whining together. I hope to hell and high water this exercise helps. 

Scenario #1: You're a forty year old gay hair dresser, and you found out that your 16-year old jowa (boy toy) has been cheating on you. 

It Could be Worse: He's cheating on you with the 42-year old hair sweeper in the same beauty parlor you work in. 
It Could be Worse: That 42-year old hair sweeper is also a gay male, and he's a few years older than you are. 
It Could be Worse: You're a forty year old gay hair dresser, and you don't have your own beauty parlor yet. 

Scenario #2: You're dead. 
It Could be Worse: They haven't located your body yet.
It Could be Worse: They have located your body, but it is decapitated. Your head is missing. 
It Could be Worse:  They have located your body, your head has been chopped off, and the only identification they have of you is your Very small penis. Oh the humiliation. But look at the bright side, Dearly Beloved. You're dead.
It Could be Worse:  Two people identified you by your very small penis. They are this forty year old hair dresser (who doesn't have his own parlor yet) and this forty two year old hair sweeper in the same beauty parlor. 

Scenario #3: You're a gay man, and you've never had sex with another man ever. 

It Could be Worse:  Your man boobs have hairy nipples, and you are morbidly obese. 
It Could be Worse:  You don't have a job, which is why you can't afford to have sex with another man ever. 
It Could be Worse:  You still live with your parents, and there is always someone home. You don't know where to have sex ever. 
It Could be Worse:  You're 56 years old.  

Scenario #4: You could be losing your job. 

It Could be Worse:  Your BFF gal pal friends forever "inner circle" Boss quit yesterday, I think. Oh, you didn't know?
It Could be Worse:  You don't have any profitable skills except for licking your Boss' boots and then kissing her ass. In that order, from the ground up. 
It Could be Worse:  Your new Boss loathes no-talent suck-ups like you. She's one of those rare people who hold skill and hard work in high esteem, so yeah, she hates you a whole fucking lot. 

Scenario #5: A good friend loaned you P500,000, but she died of some weird cancer.

It Could be Worse:  I'm kidding. She's healthier than you are, and you're still in debt. 

Scenario #6: Your boyfriend of six years left you. 

It Could be Worse:  He found you out. Your "second Facebook account" was hardly the most discrete thing, stupid. 
It Could be Worse:  His phone has 1GB of your dick pics. And each picture is smaller than the last. 
It Could be Worse:  His "My Cheating Ex -- Dick Pics" folder, the first one, has had 2,753 likes and 620 shares an hour ago. Let's see you Photoshop/Camera 360/Retrica your way out of this, pencil dick. 

Scenario #7: Your dick hurts when you urinate. 

It Could be Worse:  You're suddenly feverish in the afternoons. 
It Could be Worse:  There are traces of dried up discharge on your boxers. This is when you wake up in the morning, the discharge is yellowish, and it doesn't smell like wet dreams. Think infected wormy cheese. 
It Could be Worse:  The rashes on your palms make masturbating torturous. Most especially when you're hardly sustaining an erection recently. And the ejaculate feels like balled up barbed wire slowly shooting out of your dick's eye. 
It Could be Worse:  You've never had sex with another person ever. 
It Could be Worse:  You're 48. 
It Could be Worse:  It's a new kind of killer syphilis. And it's airborne. You have it now, and you will die a virgin. 

Scenario #8: You remember a handwritten letter given to you, in secret, by one of your most honest, closest intimates. You regard his opinion with an admiring shine on your eyes. He is a well-traveled, well-educated man of the world, a jack of all trades possessed of the regal confidence of a king. Sigh. You treasure that letter to this day, and its message resonates in your being. The four words in that letter, "You are stupid, friend," are worth their weight in gold. You keep it with you, as a rallying inspiration, for you have resolved to modify his opinion of you when you two meet again. 

It Could be Worse:  That letter was written two years ago. 
It Could be Worse:  You are still stupid. 
It Could be Worse:  You cannot find Noble Friend anywhere. He probably blocked you in Facebook or something. 

Scenario #9: You practiced your habitual tardiness to perfection, and you are now an instance away from summary dismissal. Anyway, your shift starts at 5am. It is 5:20 am now, and you're still hailing a cab. 

It Could be Worse:  It's raining harder than your last erection, and you don't have an umbrella. 
It Could be Worse:  They declared Storm Signal Number 3, and it's funny how you have no idea. Maybe they kept it a secret. 
It Could be Worse:  The reason why there are no taxis at 5:40 am is because several streets are closed down due to chest-high flash floods. It is the Third World, so what do you expect. It is one of those days when the taxi drivers have a valid excuse. You have better luck hailing an Ark. Meanwhile, it is now 6:05 am. 
It Could be Worse:  You are three hours late for work, haha, you are soaked to the tits, but you don't really have to report to work today. It turns out that they approved your leave for today, woo hoo, and you didn't have to go to work in the first place. But you did. 
It Could be Worse:  You are on leave, but you are stranded in the office. 
It Could be Worse:  See Scenario #4. 

Scenario #10: There is no Scenario #10. 

It Could be Worse:  You found this list rather amusing, and it Needs to have a Scenario #10 because you are beyond obsessive compulsive. This list cannot stop at Scenario #9. That is simply out of order. You are upset now because you are the peak of anal retentive. 
It Could be Worse:  Let me tell you the truth, Sweet Nuts. This list doesn't have a Scenario #10. Seriously. I wrote this shit, and that's final. There is no Scenario #10. 
It Could be Worse:  You are now white-hot seething in your OCD panties that this list doesn't have a Scenario #10. You now have this pressing need to let me know how much you hate me because I'm such a cock-blocking jerk. 
It Could be Worse:  I disabled the comments. 

Friday, September 12, 2014

You and Your Good Manners

**What you will read here, my Dearly Beloved, is inspired by the colorful story telling of one Very Lewd Friend. I happened to be a Very Good Listener, and so I am sharing it with my choice of words just because it could be funnier.  

Good manners rule with a shining crown. Image borrowed from jenny9119999.

I am familiar with compliments, and I receive them with equal courtesy. Good manners, you see, improve a person's estimate of you and seals you in their favor. It takes some getting used to, most especially if you are lacking of compliment-ary property, but you will get your share, by and by. Develop a skill, Dearly Beloved, and hammer your mastery with religious practice. Yes, it does make perfect. Yes, it refines you until it comes rather easy to you, second nature, really, and people will notice. And then we go back to the subject of compliments. 

"Ang galing mo pa ring chumupa," said He of the Borrowed Penis. I did not know what to say to that, so I bit his left tit instead. Courteously. How do you nibble a nipple with good manners? With practice, of course, and you need to go back to the first paragraph now because I don't think I'm getting to you.  

Friday, September 05, 2014

Tips for Your First Tattoo (Part One)

**There are millions of qualified... tipsters out there, but read on if you want to hear it from this gay dude. Whatever. This long-ish post does not include tips on after care or maintenance. That will be for the next mouthful.  

You will meet a genius artist in the future, and She will administer miracles on your skin. Trust me. I owe my first half sleeve to the awesome brilliance of my current artist, Rakel Natividad.  

I think I was 23 when I got my first tattoo. It wasn't like I have always wanted to get inked. No my Dearly Beloved, that was never the case. I wasn't one to try to look cool. "Cool," whatever that is, doesn't look cool on me anyway. 

Tip #1. Don't do it because you think it makes you look awesome. Just don't. You see, there will always be someone with more ink, prettier ink than you, and then you won't find the balls, the slightly littlest mini-balls to stand next to them. What then? Be humble. There will always be someone with a larger, far more beautiful piece. 
What I'm saying, Dearly Beloved, is that your ink belongs in the dermal layer of your skin. And it stays there until you die of AIDS and then decompose. The problem with some people is that they let the ink crawl up the veins that connect to their brain. This mutates to an unbecoming ego that wasn't there in the first place. That ego will make a dick of you. Bitch, please. Don't be a dick with ink. Be humble. 

This is where the ink goes, and this is where the ink should stay. Picture borrowed from

I was on my second telemarketing job when this dude in the office, Lucky, asked me to go to some parlor with him. I was a little on the slow side then, I didn't get the joke, so I agreed in a heartbeat. It wasn't because Lucky was cute; he had a dog's name and his complexion was the feces of an old man with colon cancer. It wasn't because Lucky was rock and roll; he was this soft-spoken, straight guy who had the blue ribbon manners of a prince. Lucky wasn't the kind of guy who gets a tattoo. He doesn't have the pluck or the spit for it. Yes, he had a nice pair of pearly white shiners, and he was built like a hard fucker, but I went with him only because he was getting tattooed for the first time. 

I was 23 then. What the hell do I know of people who get tattoos? 

Tip #2. Unless you are equipped with a thoroughly bankable skill set, and by "bankable" I mean "profitable," try to get yourself a steady job before getting your first visible tattoo. Most companies take it easy on the admission of tattooed employees, but this colorful percent of the workforce possess  equally indelible qualifications. If you have neither skill nor experience, then this tip is for you. Yes you. Nobody else. But you. 
Think about it, noob. What can you and your tattoos do? 
Funny. I mentioned "job" in the same breath as "telemarketing." But I sold useless online yellow pages for nearly two years, so yes, I suppose I know what I'm talking about. Shut your pie hole. 

Of course I was curious! I have never seen Lucky get tattooed, or anyone getting tattooed for that matter, so I said yes faster than your ejaculation. It was in the height of this charged curiosity that I decided to get tattooed myself. Why the hell not? If Lucky can get one, then why can't I? I wanted to know how it felt like. I don't mean to state the obvious, or to be a repetitive homo, but I was exceedingly curious so I decided to get a tattoo myself. Fuck Lucky, flucky haha, and his tattoo, I elected I'm getting one, too. I was 23, and I was reckless. 

It's supposed to look like this. Picture borrowed from Taiwanese Secrets.

I decided to get a Chinese character for Passion. And it will be red. I was 23 then. That was more than ten years ago. My first tattoo was "Passion" in red Chinese characters. I used to have such pedestrian taste. I don't miss it none. 

Tip #3. You "can" disregard relevance and meaning and epiphanies and significance as far as your first tattoo goes. Throw drama to the wind and just go for it. This saves you the trouble of explaining your first tattoo to everyone who pretends interest and asks about it. You can go like' "Why the hell not?"
The thing with tattoos, and I say this on a personal note, is that each individual puncture wound embeds more than a rebellious streak in your being. It's deeper than that indelible piece of art on your skin. You can choose whatever you want, fuck relevance, because it is more of a mental experience than it is masochism. It changes you a bit. And you can always cover up that piece of crap design you devirginized your skin with. Do it for what the pain will do to you.  
Later on, you will find a better artist when your taste in tattoos mature, and She will administer miracles on your skin. Trust me. 

I chose "Passion" in red Chinese characters because everybody's getting Chinese characters somewhere. Truth is, I was never that Passionate about anything then. Like I said, I don't miss the shallow decision-making process I employed in my twenties. That is so exceedingly gay.

Tip #4. Try to refrain from black ink for your first piece. Black is the hardest to cover up. 

We were in his artist's shop a few days later for the consultation. Gene T. was this smiling dude in his mid-thirties, big eyes, bushy eyebrows, yellowing teeth, white shirt, and a ponytail. He could be hot if he didn't go AWOL with a ten-thousand peso deposit ten years later, but that's another story. You see, he could have at least replied to my texts or answered my calls or made his presence known, the smell of burning candles will work, but no. Oh hell no, Dearly Beloved, he took off with a ten-thousand peso deposit and my loyalty ten years later, and I'm still sore in some places. 

Meanwhile, I was shining smiles and then some more the first time I met Gene T. Again, he could be hot if he hadn't taken off with a ten-thous... He agreed to take us in, Lucky and I, as clients, and our sessions were scheduled the following Saturday. He charged 1,000 php for every four square inches of skin. We left with our designs and a one-thousand peso deposit, five hundred each, and then I got even more excited. I was so wet with anticipation, I was a goddamn flood gate. I'm getting tattooed! 

You cannot get any more excited than that. Picture borrowed from Davelashbrook.

Tip #5. Be all polite and nice and civil and law abiding and New Testament and Code of Hammurabi and all that creamy goodness towards your artist. He will embellish your skin with forever art. You should know better than to be on his bad side. Be nice and grateful to your artist. 
Having said that, I recommend that you please consider tipping your artist. Seriously, Dearly Beloved, tip. Ten percent is ideal. Not only is it common courtesy, but the gesture will take you a long way. Be nice to your artist.  

Gene T's tattoo parlor opens at around 10:30-ish in the morning, mall hours, and we, Lucky and I, had two bottles of the local beer they serve to weak types like us at eight that morning. Can you, my Dearly Beloved Sweet Nuts, can you find it in your loving heart to blame us if we were drinking that early in the morning? Sure, we were young. Sure, we were stupid. Sure, we had change and a few hours to spare. But we were getting a tattoo an hour or so later, and we had to brace our weak, weak telemarketer hearts. 

We smelled like a brewery when we got to Gene's shop. I will spare you the details of the tattooing process, for that will be another two hundred thousand words, but I will write that by and by. I will tell you this much, though. Gene finished my red "Passion" in a little under two hours. It hurt, sure, like a bitch, but this wonderful hurt explained why certain people get repeat tattoos. 

And, on a related note, I bled like a virgin. Touched for the very first time. I wouldn't have been drinking earlier had I known then what I'm about to share now. 

Tip #6. Do not drink alcohol before your session. Alcohol thins the blood and makes profuse bleeding happen. Expect some blood as the needles puncture your skin, but it's not supposed to drip. Alcohol guarantees that, for real. Again, my Dearly Beloved Sweet Nuts, do not drink alcohol before your session. 
Hell yeah. Picture borrowed from Quickmeme.

I was smiling beyond myself when I saw this beautiful, foreign Chinese character on my right arm. It felt sore, and it felt warm, and a thin stream of blood trickled down my elbow as my reflection smiled back at me. Gene wiped the blood off with a wet tissue, and then he wiped the rest of my tattoo clean. Oh that motherfucker smarted, really it did, but it felt better, encouraging even, when he smoothed a thin layer of petroleum jelly on my new ink. 

Gene told me to keep applying petroleum jelly on my tattoo for the next couple of days. Try to keep it dry, he said, it will heal eventually, he said, and it will be far more beautiful, he said. He never mentioned anything about the smell of a wet dog while the tattoo is healing, but I didn't mind that. I knew I was ready for my next tattoo. 

What of Lucky's tattoo? Remember his was the complexion of the shit of an old man with colon cancer? And he chose black ink for his first tattoo. I imagined I saw some of it, but I said it looked rather dashing on him anyway. It was dragon-ish-esque something.  

Tip #7. Take your hands off your dick, Dearly Beloved, for I am about to say something of paramount importance. Thank you. After care is boss. After care is boss. After care is boss. After care is boss. After care is boss. Thank you. 

I can write about the proper way of caring for your new ink in the future, but I am now tired and can use a little kinky myself. Anyway, I solemnly swear, My Dearly Beloved Sweet Nuts, to follow through with Part 2 sometime soon. I'll see you then. 

Saturday, August 16, 2014

Pussy Kamagong is Dead

**I solemnly swear that I am not fucking with you, my Dearly Beloved Sweet Nuts, when I confess to writing this in 2/17/2011. I am not making that up. I was scrolling through my vomitorium today, 06/03/2014, when I chanced upon this unsightly mess of boo-hoo bullshit. I remember moving on from Five-Years J when I wrote this, and I present it to you now, just now, for your consideration. 

I love you more than an orgasm, really I do, but haha, your consideration does not make a difference, my Dearly Beloved. It really doesn't. This happened during one of those moments we all had at one stupid point or another, when you are wobbling drunk with self pity, when you are at your ugliest vulnerable, when you... oh fuck, to hell with that. To begin with, I hardly knew 
the man I fell in love with. But in the end, I knew him well, far too well, for he was the spastic mongoloid motherfucker who broke my heart. 

"He was the spastic mongoloid motherfucker who broke my heart." That shit will look golden in my vomitorium. And that pretty much explains why The Award of Best Dramatic Whatever in a Blog Post Role goes to what squeamish blech you will be reading now. 


It used to be that I write nice. I used to write laughter, and I used to write inspiration, and I used to write agreements, and I used to write goodness. I used to write love, and I used to write sunshine, and I used to write the full moon in its most radiant glory. I used to write friendship, and I used to write laughter, and I used to write applause, and I used to write admiration. I used to write love, and I used to write those blessed ejaculations, and I used to write the saving grace that we all needed at the most opportune time. But that writing has weakened, and that has, by and by, succumbed to a stroke, and it has lost its inspiration with all those tears I shed.  

I am suddenly at a loss for words, my words, the kind of words that I collect and employ with such darling endearment. That, however, didn't stop me from going back to the one release that, like masturbation, addresses my very specific urges. 

I still write. But I suppose I write different now, and my words paint a flowerless picture. I now write cold fire, and my words burn with a frozen heat that is both lifeless and consuming. I now write toxicity, and every stroke of my pen is laced with enough poison to secretly kill a dear, dear friend. I now write tears, and my written ideas are barren of smiles and good hope. I now write betrayal, and I detail its consequences with terrifying enthusiasm. I now write that heavy feeling of a heart that needs to cry, but can't, because it is severely dehydrated. 

That is assuming that I can still write. Two of my last posts are re-posts. And now I give you this excuse for murder.  

I used to think that I have cried enough. But crying never tolerated this residual hurt, and so it grew tired of me and resigned from its office. I can't cry again if I tried, and believe me I did because I had plenty of amazing chances, but I was betrayed by that saving grace. I think I have moved on, but I haven't crawled enough, so I'm still a mere feet away from the hurt that I was trying to get away from.  

I was just making that up. You can say that I am fucking with you, my darling punk reader. I have indeed moved on, to a dead certainty, but something changed in me. I write, no, I stab that deathly white emptiness with an unbridled lack of passion. I cannot assume to call it spiritless, because it is now possessed of this daring influence that has yielded to such unpleasant persuasions. I choke that pen, that knife, with murderous intent, and my stabbing is both livid and dead at the same time. 

This kind of writing killed my Pussy Kamagong. 


(Rapid burial in earth is recommended for this sort of self-defeating, unappreciated pile of drama. Fuck, I should be well beyond this shallow drivel at my age, really.)


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