America 1982-Chapter 490 - 92: The Jews Arrive

Under Martin’s lead, Tommy entered the tattoo studio that was plastered with various tattoo drafts and finished photos. As they walked in, even Martin couldn’t help but wave his hand in front of his nose a few times, "Jesus, this hemp smell is so strong it’s enough to supply the United States Drug Enforcement Administration with a year’s worth of seizures. How high are you?"

The mixed-race tattoo apprentice guarding the store grinned, revealing a mouthful of rotten teeth, and shook the still-lit hand-rolled cigarette in his hand at Martin, "Florida needs inspiration, art needs inspiration, and for inspiration, you need this stuff~"

Martin didn’t bother with the guy who was obviously blasted, and led Tommy straight to the back room. As they pushed the door open, Tommy saw Jeff, whom he hadn’t seen in days, quietly lying on the tattoo chair, letting the tattoo artist work on his broad back.

Apart from the tattoo artist and Jeff, there was also an effeminate-looking black man in the room. 𝙛𝓻𝒆𝒆𝒘𝙚𝓫𝙣𝙤𝒗𝙚𝓵.𝙘𝙤𝙢

"You’re using the hard-earned money I made by selling my body, money that I donated to Jeff, to hire what looks like a sissy to be his overall campaign stylist? We’re supposed to package him as a tough guy, not a gigolo," Tommy realized why Jessica, a traditional woman who seldom used discriminatory words to describe others, opted for the term "sissy" the moment he laid eyes on the black man.

The black man in front of them was about thirty years old, bald with a burgundy bowler hat, wearing a T-shirt that looked like a Dalmatian with its black and white patches, tight denim shorts, casual sandals, and a black jacket tied around his waist with the tails hanging between his legs, which made it look like he was wearing a black miniskirt.

"90% of the women in Florida don’t have the allure or the femininity that this black sissy has, and that already proves his capability. When he uses the restroom in a gay bar, he needs four bodyguards outside, or he’d be beaten to death with pool cues. He even insured his ass for a huge sum," Martin was obviously very familiar with him as he introduced him to Tommy,

"Marcus Landry, won the title of Florida’s Most Photogenic Makeup Mister at the age of twenty-two. Now he’s a stylist, having designed the overall package for many local singers’ music videos in Florida, and he even owns his own styling studio. Among the black community, he’s definitely considered young and promising, just slightly less so than me."

Martin tended to exaggerate when he spoke, but Tommy felt that this time it wasn’t an exaggeration. The black man was at least one meter ninety tall, but you just couldn’t describe him with the term tall and stout used for men; rather, ’slender’ was more appropriate. Despite Tommy’s inner reluctance toward both homosexuals and black people, he had to admit that this feminine yet handsome black gay man was absolutely the Marilyn Monroe in the eyes of male homosexuals.

"This is my boss, Tommy," said Martin to the man named Marcus.

Marcus obviously took issue with what Tommy had just said. He frowned slightly as he sized up Tommy, then gestured toward Jeff on the tattoo chair and disdainfully said, "Jeff Raven’s patriotic hard man design, and the tough veteran tattoos on his body, his clothing, all styled by this sissy man here."

Tommy leaned in to take a closer look at the unresponsive Jeff, and upon clearly seeing the tattoos on his body, he exclaimed, "Wow, I take back what I said earlier. Marcus, you’re a real badass. To apologize, I will introduce you to a friend named Jason. You might be able to cure his Marcus syndrome, and he would pay you a big sum for it."

On Jeff’s broad back was now inked an upright M4A1 rifle with its barrel stuck into a pair of United States Army boots, and a helmet with a dog tag hanging from the stock—clearly a soldier’s grave.

And beside the boots, two ferocious-looking American Pit Bulls crouched as if alive, with a handwritten English sentence above the dogs, "Old soldiers never die; they just fade away to fuck up anyone who wants this country dead!"

And on both arms were tattoos already filled with symbols representing leadership like an eagle clutching a skull, poppies for remembering fallen comrades in battle, a pierced heart, a nude woman, and photos of his wife Jessica among other common military tattoos.

"Just looking at these tattoos, I indeed wouldn’t believe that Jeff only helped the Florida National Guard band carry instruments. These tattoos scream elite special forces assassin," Tommy said admiringly with nods, then he asked Marcus, "Jeff’s doing pretty good, too; getting tattooed is painful and he can even sleep through it, which shows he’s a tough guy through and through."

"He let out a big cry and passed out only after taking enough anesthetics to put down a large elephant, sir. Haven’t you noticed how light the colors of these tattoos are? That’s because of the anesthetics; the pores constrict and don’t absorb the ink... The designs on this guy are the worst works of my career. I’d never admit this crap was done by me," the tattoo artist flicked away the butt of his hand-rolled cigarette, looked up at Tommy, and said,

"This guy is as soft as the silicone boobs on the inflatable dolls I often use."

Tommy sighed and to change the subject, he asked Martin, "Alright, when is Silicon Boobs Jeff’s first party nomination speech?"