Among the advantages of moonlighting at a theme park is the opportunity to "people watch." People love to dress as cowboys any chance they get, with more or less success.
However, during a particularly hot summer, there may be rather too much of people to watch.
Anyone who doubts there is an American obesity epidemic hasn't spent much time in New Jersey in the summer. Besides the obesity epidemic is a pandemic lack of modesty. People who by right and sanity would remain as covered as possible display what often appears to be acres and acres of skin.
Worse, often that skin is decorated (or defaced, depending on your taste) with what is euphamistically referred to as "body art."
It is not art.
Kandinsky is art. Charles Russell is art. Even what your kids bring home for you to hang on the refrigerator is art. The Tazmanian Devil inked on a bicep that hasn't lifted anything heavier than a pint of beer since the Carter Administration is not art.
While some people who apply tattoos may have passed 8th grade art, most ply their trade for economic, rather than artistic reasons. And the more popular tattoos become, the more likely it will be to find a tattoo artist who isn't.
Adding to the quality problem is the quantity problem. People don't stop with one tattoo. I must be an addiction. They may start with a discreet bluebird on the shoulder, but it doesn't stop there. Soon they move on to feathers and crucifixes (huge feathers and long crucifixes) and the name of their "true love." which may doom them to a succession of "Lucys."
Worse, even than lumpy, hairy men with Bugs Bunny smoking a cigar on their arms are super plus-size women with Betty Boop on a motorcycle on their matronly upper backs.
Some of these gals were obviously not plus-sized when they got inked. Unfortunately, when a rose tattoo expands, it looks like a cabbage rose on steroids. Not, in all probability, what the gal was thinking.
