Take a good look around, and you’ll be hard-pressed to escape those pretty bastards out there relishing in the buzz that has, over the past two decades or so, made getting tattooed socially acceptable for upstanding law-abiding members of society. Everyone from fat-cat, corporate executives to police officers—you know, the so-called pillars of the community—are now white-knuckling it through augmentations of the flesh in an attempt to show their peers that they are edgy, gosh darn it, and should be, at least in some regard, revered as one of the cool kids.
Long gone are the days when inked appendages were badges of badass almost exclusively carved into the bodies of bikers, sleazy musicians, and ex-cons. Somewhere along the way, pop culture got porked by punk rock and gave birth to a red-eyed love child that looks a heck of a lot like you!
Within America’s bizarre movement to express itself, however, where everyone and their momma is inked-up and sleeved out, there exists an absolute legion of hell-raisers, outlaws, and die-hard stoners forever scarred with various pot-related pigmentations that none of these well-dressed specimens of modern fashion would ever be caught dead with—not in a million years.
In the ’70s, the marijuana tattoo, most commonly represented with a shoddy-looking cannabis leaf that appeared as though it resulted in a gnarly staph infection, was perhaps the official symbol of rebellion. People with the cannabis coat of arms were dead-set against the principles of popular opinion. None of them bought into any of that “religion will save humanity” crap, and they damn sure weren’t about to go to work for the man. They didn’t subscribe to all of the BS being forced down their throats by the frightened servants of authority. Nope, they lived …
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Author: Mike Adams / High Times
