The Drunk Unicorn Tramp Stamp: A Tattoo Shop Horror Story (You Can’t Make This Stuff Up)

It’s a Saturday night. The kind where the whole street smells like whiskey, burnt rubber, and regret. We’re posted up at Black Venom Ink, the kind of tattoo shop where the walls are covered in vintage flash art, the floors are sticky with energy drink, and the playlist is stuck somewhere between Motörhead and Marilyn Manson. It’s not just a tattoo shop; it’s a lifestyle. And that night? Oh man, it was a whole damn reality show.

Enter: Crystal.

Twenty-something, bleach-blonde, dressed like she rolled straight out of a 2003 Avril Lavigne video. Short leather skirt, thigh-high boots, a tank top that said “Born to Raise Hell” — she fit the scene way too well. She’d rolled up on the back of some dude’s Harley (who we never saw again, by the way) and stomped into the shop like she owned the place.

She was three margaritas past the legal limit but insisted she was “totally fine” and had “thought about this for like, ever.”

Her tattoo request?

A unicorn. On her lower back. Riding a skateboard. Shooting rainbow lasers out of its eyes. With a banner that read:

“No Ragrets” — spelled exactly like that.

You could hear the record scratch from the other side of the shop.

Now, our artist, Johnny Razor, has seen it all. Face tats. Misspelled lyrics. A dude once asked for a “realistic but sexy” portrait of Shrek. But this… this was next level.

Johnny tried to talk her out of it. Offered to redraw the design. Suggested, you know, maybe sleep on it. But Crystal? She was having none of it. She slammed a $100 bill on the counter, lit a Marlboro in the waiting room (yes, really), and said,

“Let’s ride, cowboy.”

So he did.

The tattoo took three hours. In those three hours:

• She passed out twice.
• Called her ex on speakerphone to tell him she was getting “hotter by the minute.”
• Took a selfie mid-tattoo and posted it on Instagram with the caption: “New ink, who dis? #BadDecisionsClub”

By the time Johnny finished, we had a unicorn that looked like it had survived a bar fight, the skateboard was somehow upside down, and the “No Ragrets” banner? It was proudly flying like a pirate flag of poor life choices.

She stood up, checked it out in the mirror, and shouted:

“This is the best thing I’ve ever done!”

Fast forward two days later. Crystal came back, mortified. Apparently, she sobered up and realized she had a stoned Lisa Frank nightmare permanently inked on her body. She begged for a cover-up, offered to bake brownies, even cried a little. But Johnny Razor? He’s a man of principle.

He said, “You wanted this. You earned this.”

And thus, the legend of the Unicorn Tramp Stamp Incident was born.

Moral of the story?

If you’re gonna live the wild, edgy life — own it. Tattoos are forever. Good stories are better.

Stay wild. Stay inked.

And for the love of Lemmy, spell check your tattoo.