It seems that a select few ordinary people are sometimes cursed with an offspring that has a propensity for self-destruction. Through no fault of their own, fate chuckles at these fertilized eggs that form neurological pathways that slowly create a creature who ignores common sense and dives headlong into disaster. Sex, intelligence, financial status, or family backgrounds generate no clear path as to who is going to go down this path. Lower class, dysfunctional, poor people would seem to favor these individuals who start covering their bodies in tattoos at a young age, but statistically all categories even out in percentages. Somewhere in one’s youth, an overwhelming urge to paint their skin with comic book art takes over and their fleshy art gallery fills up as funds come in. There is usually a theme to this epidermal canvas and two ingredients often surface: drugs and alcohol. The drugs are for the creative process to plan the masterpiece and the alcohol is to dull the senses when the tattoo machine drills and retracts needles into their nerve endings. Alcohol effectively kills the pain and engages the survival mechanism of fight, but not flight. Even if one is a good fighter, sooner rather than later, they are going to run into a pissed off psycho with a tire iron and teeth are going to get knocked out. They will soon look like a piano with just a bunch of black sharps and flats. Adding to the missing chompers will be a dedication to the tattoo artist and his goal to turn your body into a Rembrandt. Funds are prioritized and the dentist does not make the list. An inverse relationship forms, as the number of tats increase, the number of teeth decrease. Unable to chew raw fruits or vegetables, infections and drug use increases while overall health decreases. In the near future, the toothless tat lies motionless on a stainless-steel table wearing a piece of unique jewelry. It is a cardboard toe tag with their name inked in, John or Jane Doe.