So at about 4:30 one night, I was wandering the streets when a figure stepped towards me form the shadows. Her wild hair, as red as her eyes, swam around her head in a chaotic cyclone. Her clothing, made entirely of pizza boxes and bottle caps, shone with a glimmer not unlike a champagne glass under a neon sign. In one hand, a brown-bagged bottle. In the other, a sharpie. That woman taught me how to love that night, and her mark remains with me to this day.
A party's not a party until someone starts serving up bitchin' sharpie tats.
Agreed. Question: did you start this, most bitchin' of traditions, or was it handed down from some art director of days passed?
That was all me. When I got bored I started drawing all over things in the office. One day I asked Max if I could draw on him.
THUS WAS A TRADITION BORN.
(At the time when I joined the Garg, I was the ONLY person who could draw.)
Nice abs!