it's a cold michigan february. sherman parks his f250 superduty with chrome stacks front of a tattoo parlor, pausing to chuckle at the truck nutz hanging from the trailer hitch. 'never gets old', he thinks to himself as he spits out his chaw and walks inside. he approaches the artist, an olympic level douchebag with a chinstrap beard a wallet chain and a no fear t-shirt. 'give me the trashiest thing you've got', he says, and offers a precracked coconut as payment.
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11-20-2019
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