MY TATS

Thanks to all who came out to pack [brag] the TV Book Club show last night. It’s more fun when people are in attendance, laughing and such.

We even had a celebrity in the audience, which I find makes even the scabbiest whore of a show a little bit fancier. Out of respect for privacy, I won’t reveal the identity of the celebrity, but I will say I’m still angry at him for turning a cheek after his Tri-Lambda brother raped that sorority girl on the moon. OMG GAWKER STALKER!!!!

I had written a new piece for the show that had some visual elements which were pretty vital to its success, but had to abandon it when we discovered the venue’s projector was broken. It was kind of disappointing, but I had a back-up piece and, to make up for the rest of the time, I just freestyle rapped. (People love my rappings.)

Anyway, here is the piece I couldn’t do last night. It’s called:

“Frequently Asked Questions About My Tattoos”

Question #1: My God, What Have You Done?
Here’s what I have done. I have made what some may consider a bold lifestyle choice, but what I consider the only choice for me. And further, to use an old lawyer’s trick I would like to answer your question with another question: Have you ever dared to dream? I mean, really dream? And, if so, at some point in your dream did a wise, talking penguin tell you that the secret to immortality involves having the words “Mr. Cool Ice” written as many times as your naked torso will accommodate and, whenever possible, having those words accompanied by a skeleton–preferably, a skeleton wearing sunglasses? If your answer is “no,” then I might ask you one more, pointed question: What have you done?

Question #2: What the fuck, dude? Are you shitting me?
No, I’m not “shitting you, dude.” This is the real deal. I would invite you to touch it and see for yourself exactly how real it is, but A) I’m not sure if you’re a girl or a dude, and I don’t want it to get weird; and B) I would require that you wear mittens or gloves when you touch Mr. Cool Ice because otherwise you just might get frostbite. Actually, that’s just some Mr. Cool Ice humor. In all seriousness, my skin temperature varies slightly, depending on the surrounding temperature. As such, my skin isn’t unusually cool to the touch, unless I’ve just stepped out of an unheated swimming pool or a cold lake, or have been shopping for steaks with my shirt off. Please note this answer also covers frequently asked question #18–“Do You Possess Any Unique Superhuman Powers, Apart From Being A Super Douche?”

Question #3: Did this take a long time, or did you just wake up one day and say, ‘What’s the most unambiguous way to communicate to the rest of the world that I am a total fucking idiot?’
I don’t know how many Mr. Cool Ice tattoos you have, but a project this ambitious doesn’t just happen overnight. First, there was the process of choosing a name. Believe it or not, Mr. Cool Ice was not my first choice, though I am 99.9% sure it was the right choice. Some other names I considered, but ultimately rejected for not being “cool ice” enough:

  • Mr. Cool
  • Mr. Ice
  • Dr. Cool Ice
  • Mr. Cold Temperature
  • Mr. Hot Fire
  • Mr. Sex
  • Mr. Hot Tub Party
  • Mr. Thirteen Unique Sexual Positions
  • Captain Partystarter of the S.S. Shitfaced
  • Mrs. Ben Affleck

Then came research. Weeks upon weeks spent selecting a font, referencing medical books for anatomical illustrations, and marking up the pages of a Sunglass Hut catalog, to make certain every detail would be perfectly realized.

Initially, my intention was to place the Mr. Cool Ice badge on either shoulder, and one covering my entire torso, twice–to encourage retention. Then I added a pair of forearm-sized ICE tattoos, for occasions where I would be required to wear short-sleeved shirts–an invitation to the opera, for example. Later, during an unseasonably cold April, I added two more Mr. Cool Ice skulls, one on either hand, to be visible during jacket weather.

Then, about six months later, I noticed something. Whenever I was standing at a public urinal shirtless or doing bare-chested push-ups on the beach, no one was shouting out my name. In those small but precious moment, my message wasn’t getting out. It had the potential to become a real problem. Fortunately, just three hours and $800 later, that problem became permanently solved.

I actually considered adding one more Mr. Cool Ice badge to my neck but then I decided it might give the wrong impression. After all, I am the CEO of a major corporation.

Question #4: What should people call you? Mr. Cool Ice? Or Mr. Ice? Or should we just call you Asshole McFuckwad?
Hey, there’s really no need to be so formal. People called my father Mr. Cool Ice. You can just call me “Cool.”

No, I’m just kidding. Please call me Mr. Cool Ice. Or, if you’d prefer, Todd Ice.

Question #5: Do you have any idea how hard I want to punch your face right now?

That’s precisely the kind of question that tests the very definition of my name. Fortunately for you, Cool Ice Heads will prevail.

Question #6: Do you have any regrets?
Ah, regrets. I do have a few. You see, back when I had the work done, I wore my hair much shorter, as was the style back then. But as I’ve gotten older I’ve grown out my hair and, as such, have deprived the world of something very special. In some ways I think those sunglasses, tattooed on the bottom half of my head, resting far lower than one would think appropriate or even physically possible, might hold the key to truly understanding the whole Mr. Cool Ice gestalt, and I regret that. I also regret having the words “FREE MANDELA” tattooed on my boner. Those two things, chiefly.

[Special thanks to Andrew Steele for his late-night inspiration, and for the "that's what people call my dad" joke, which I stole like a creep.]

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