…. your grandma.” I dutifully examined the blue dot.

“No it wasn’t grandpa.” The old man looked indignant. “I know all about your crazy hair and utter disregard for CO2 emissions, but at no point in my family history was there a blue dot on my fathers side.”

“Bollocks in your head boy! CO2 bullcrap at this time! This..” he jabbed his crusty yellow nail roughly on the blue dot, “…this was going to be your grandma. I went into the tattoo shop and showed the man the picture of her lovely face. He even said ‘ooo, she’s got a lovely face’, and he was not wrong boy. He was not wrong.

As he brought his little tattoo stick to my arm… a terrorist tank drove straight through the wall, killing him dead right there and missing me by inches!!” His arm waved wildly above his head. “I escaped with my life lad, safely carrying the little swimmers that led to you." He dropped his hand aggressively to his groin and grabbed his ancient manhood. "So be grateful.”

“Er…” I didn’t really want to think about Grandpa’s sperm.

“I took it as a sign boy. This dot is my sign to never, ever return to the tat-oo sh-op. The universe has stated it’s opinion on me defacing my body, and I shall bend to it’s will.” He closed his eyes and dropped his head as if in a deep reverie.

“Grandpa?” He opened his eyes and nodded at me serenely, like a man of God. “Did that really happen?” he looked me straight in the eye. “Or did the tattoo stick just really hurt?” He lunged forward, poking the yellow nail in my face.

“Damn you mister. You talk such goddamn bollocks all day, it’s a wonder you aint got balls on your chin. You shut your damn mouth and have some respect for your Grandma.” He pointed angrily to the dot before slouching back in his chair muttering to himself and rubbing the tattoo of grandma. It was obvious I was coming at him from the wrong angle. I stayed silent for just longer than it would take for him to forget his rage.

“Grandpa?” I ventured eventually.

“What is it, goddamn peckerhead?” Not quite forgotten.

“Did they do the tattoo with needles and ink?”

“No lad, it was done with a feather and the blood of a virgin. What do you think? You goddamn idiot. You had better drugs than me at college, that's sure as cheese! Any more stupid questions?” I returned to silence for a moment. When he stopped shaking his surprisingly hirsute head I approached him again.

“Grandpa?”

“You’re chatting on like a goddamn woman today son.”

“Did you know they do tattoos with lasers now.” He looked at me, stroking the blue dot fondly. “You could have a tattoo of grandma on your face and it wouldn’t hurt at all, barely even tickles.” I raised the sleeve of my shirt and showed Grandpa the intricate dragon emblazoned on my bicep and shoulder. He excitedly beckoned me closer. His nail ran over my brightly coloured tattoo.

“And that didn’t hurt at all?” his old eyes blinked in disbelief.

“Nope. And it took about eight minutes.” Grandpa looked at me. He looked at my tattoo. He looked at his blue dot.

Grandpa had a huge, mischievous grin spreading right across his face; he suddenly looked a lot younger.

RATE THIS BRANCH!