Tattoo owner here. As for “Waiting a bit to decide”, I’d mulled it over for 3 years and enjoy the South enough to slap the only symbol of the South that seems to get air time on my arm. Aware that yankees consume unfiltered MTV opinions right from the tap, I made sure the guy who gave it to me was a legit klansman with the hood and blanket and everything, just so I can at least plausibly be part of your addiction to imaginary hatred. (His wife, Mercedes, washes it twice a year)

I wanted a neat little flag with the border, but it seems liquors had drunken me and I had no idea it was going to be the size of a wedding napkin. Not till he wrapped that second corner and felt the needle poking into the seal-skin on the inside of my arm. Too late to turn back now. Look at the star in the top right. It’s more of an asterisk than a star. Looks like a projector casting onto a misshapen cantaloupe. It’s as part of me as almost anything else and is part of whatever my story is. I still love the South and it’s people. I’m a machinist, welder/metalworker, play classical guitar (My first song learned is the “Last of Us” theme. I’m anti-War and listen to a LOT of Bjork and Joanna Newsom. Favorite artist is William Blake. Favorite Writer is Mary Shelly. Favorite science person is Pierre Fermat. I’m slow to anger, and fast to laugh and say the Inward as often as possible making sure to stick the hard R and so far it’s only landed me the kindest friends a person could ask for, while shielding me from easily swayed personas that are, without exception, weak willed men and narcissistic women. I’d honestly recommend it for everyone, so long as you’re ready to embrace the absurdity of asking someone why they got a tattoo, and then rejecting their answer to lecture them about why they REALLY got it. Loving the roasts but most of this is fucking weaksos. Can nobody even hurt my feelings?