Wrote this about the shop apprentice, Bryce. Well, to be honest, I don’t think it took too long for him to outpace the term “apprentice”. Given how quickly he was knocking them out of the park, and where he’s at now, I think it’s fair to call him a full fledged tattooist.
guys think that he’s disarming
guys think that he’s disarming
find him a total hoot
gals regard him as charming
giggle that he’s cute
that the lad has some talent
is quite readily apparent
clearly evident was a strong work ethic
his prodigious output was tremendous
not to mention his very unique aesthetic
he was asked to become the shop apprentice
he proved to be one of those quick studies
rapidly grasping the art of dermography
with the trust of some uninked buddies
that didn’t end in multi-hued catastrophe
he has a distinctive style all his own
his skills by leagues they’ve grown
but he gets dirty handprints on the door
and drops ink splatters all over the floor
gets to watch a hot young thing get stripped
before etching into her flesh some silly script
there isn’t much he hasn’t depicted
no style to which he’s restricted
whether sea monsters from the briny deep
or skeletal remains that from crypts creep
from a cybernetic cricket skull
to barnacles on a frigate hull
from the characters of Lewis Carroll
to snarling badgers on a large mural
he can render on a young lass a delicate bird
or a comic book super hero sleeve on a nerd
he can wax poetic about fossilized whale poop
while tattooing a plesiosaur in ectoplasmic goop
studies up on cryptozoological pathology
while painting scenes of future mythology
reads books on Pleistocene megafauna
while snuggled up with his pet iguana
even though his name is Huffman
he absolutely refuses to puff one
at one of our safety meets
he defers the tasty treats
Bryce will tell you he likes beers
but on this point he is clearly fibbin’
anything with flavour or body he fears
preferring instead Pabst Blue Ribbon
he’s very slack about pop can recycling
and isn’t visible enough while bicycling
too consumed painting zombie snails
to answer his many unread emails
too busy drawing a musk ox
to deal with his stuffed inbox
Bryce fails to update his blog
his talents he refuses to flog
on the goodness of his co-workers he’s hopin’
always leaving his email and Facebook open
regrettably he listens to whiny screamo bands
“oh...turn that shit off!” everyone commands
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