Tattoo Machine: Tall Tales, True Stories, and My Life in Ink… by Jeff Johnson
2009 May 30
Although I do own the book, I’ve not read “Kitchen Confidential” so I can’t speak as to whether Jeff Johnson’s tattoo parlor tell-all is similar. And although I have two tattoos and I once nearly vibrated myself off the table at a shop on Melrose getting my eyebrow pierced, I’m not all that familiar with tattoo parlors either. But I can say that this book is fun to read. It’s not terribly revealing, the author often waxes lyrical about his own personal philosophy and several of the tales seem to have been included simply for the shock value, but the book is, well, for the most part, fun; and in that regard I believe the book lives up to exactly what the title states: tall tales, true stories and my life in ink. For it’s many small shortcomings this book at the very least can claim honesty of advertising, a refreshing change when more often than not the synopsis on the back of the book seems have been written by editors who never actually READ the book.
I will comment as an aside that only twice in my life have I ever been frightened in a “Silence of The Lambs” kind of way… once while standing in a used bookstore in Las Vegas when I overheard a police detective tell a visiting detective that, on average, there are 7 serial killers operating in Las Vegas at any given time but the transient population and other more arcane factors hide it, AND reading Johnson’s story about the man with the banner tattoos. Those two tidbits are enough to make a person seriously consider agoraphobia as a potential lifestyle choice. (
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I will comment as an aside that only twice in my life have I ever been frightened in a “Silence of The Lambs” kind of way… once while standing in a used bookstore in Las Vegas when I overheard a police detective tell a visiting detective that, on average, there are 7 serial killers operating in Las Vegas at any given time but the transient population and other more arcane factors hide it, AND reading Johnson’s story about the man with the banner tattoos. Those two tidbits are enough to make a person seriously consider agoraphobia as a potential lifestyle choice. (
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I think your reviewing hobby is exposing you to a new variety of books. Nothing interested me about this book until your aside about fear at the end. Now I’m curious about the guy with the banner tattoos.
I’ve had a few fearful moments that your comment reminded me of. In the mid seventies I played foosball well enough that my foosball partner and I explored unknown bars in Charlotte seeking worthy opponents. We once went to a biker bar called “Uncle Sam’s” on Plaza Road. The place was almost empty, but we went in to see what kind of foosball table they had, for later. Shortly after we went in a biker gang arrived — tattoos, chains, leathers, beards, muscles… They stood around drinking and talking between the foosball table and the front door, blocking our exit.
Back then certain biker gangs required each new member to kill somebody. The act served at least three purposes. It proved the new guy wasn’t a cop. It proved the new guy was loyal enough to do what the gang leader told him to do. And it gave the gang a murder to hold over the member to prevent him from ever questioning his loyalties.
Well, a big ugly ox of a biker had recently killed his assignment, and he was talking about it to the other gang members, loudly, and in great detail. He told everyone how he was a strong guy, but he had a lot of trouble crushing the other guy’s skull. He said he had the guy on the pavement and hit him with all his might, over and over, before the skull finally broke. While he was reliving his murderous feat, a couple of gang members kept looking at me and my partner like they knew we had heard too much and they hadn’t decided what to do about it. We felt very fortunate to make it back to my car that night.