There were a lot of reasons why I decided to become a tattoo artist: fame, fortune and the lure of handling marginally-clothed women in the wee hours of the morning. Guaranteed employment was right up there too, but the real reason was simple. I was hopelessly unemployed, mired in lawsuits, and flat broke, so I was desperate to try anything. While standing in line at Trader Joe’s, I scoured the headlines of Cosmopolitan, Good Housekeeping and Redbook desperate for ideas about which way to turn: “Become a Neuro-surgeon Online in 3 Weeks!” “Learn How to Operate Heavy Equipment in Your Own Backyard!” “Discover the Exciting Field of Cremation!” Everyone had…
