For years I've said, "If I ever get a tattoo it's going to be Marvin the Martian on my butt shooting his ray-gun at Uranus." Well this year for my 52nd birthday my wife called my bluff and set me up with an artist to have my ass permanently marked. But that's not the purpose of this post. What happened just prior to the act of tattooing is what I thought you all would appreciate.
I walk into the shop and fill out the requisite paperwork releasing the artist and his shop from anything and everything that could go wrong, including screwing up the tattoo. I'm not particularly nervous about the pain. but I am thinking to myself, "This is going to be permanent." The artist has me stand in a normal position while he gets the tattoo outline positioned correctly. Marvin the Martian on my left hip/butt with his helmet just above my pant line and the "Uranus" sign right at the top of my crack. I check it out in a mirror and my first thought is, "Male tramp stamp." But I'm committed. I'm a man of my word. I'm...a lifelong smartass and this is an exclamation point that nobody except my wife, Doctor, massage therapist and mortician will see. As I lay down on the table/chair that's made for an average human (I'm 6'5") I realize the next hour and a half are not going to be that comfortable. About this same time the very eclectic playlist, broadcasting everything from rap to country too loudly, starts to play the happiest, almost nursery rhyme-ish type song that had me literally laughing out loud. The song is what this post is about. Enjoy.
.. I know, the hat is kind of silly but I find it funny and a lot of people do ask me if I actually have a "real job." 
