My friend Fozzo is an unemployed investment fund manager. One bright sunny afternoon we found ourselves standing in his backyard with our hands on our hips looking at his latest purchase. His young teenage daughters had badgered him enough to buy a fluffy puppy off a website. The little puppy danced around on the lawn in front of us.
“Does he have a name?”
“Yep, the girls have named him Truffle.”
“Cute. What is he?”
“He’s a Shitzu cross Toy Poodle.”
“That makes him a Shitpoo. What’s he do?”
“Nuthin’. He cost me two thousand dollars.”
Aside from the purchase of a Shitpoo for two thousand dollars (which would perform as well as any dog pound pup) one of the greatest random acts of pointlessness to infect popular culture in recent years is the tattoo. Tattoos were once the preserve of bike gangs, sailors and half the population Brisbane’s southern suburbs but have managed to trickle up until they now seem to be a ubiquitous part of urban individuals under the age of 40. The problem with tattoos or body art is that it never really accomplishes what it sets out to achieve. (more…)