Yesterday, I posted a series of six stories, five of which are fabrications, or, at least, not completely true in one way or the other — and ONE story is absolutely true.
Over the next few days I will reveal the truth about the lies.
Lie #1: Helena Hann-Basquiat and the Tattoo of Parental Perturbation
English: McDonalds’ sign in Harlem. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)
My parents, if you’ve read my sordid tale, are complete couche-tards (again, what are you doing here if you don’t know what a couche-tard is?) and when I was just seventeen (you know what I mean) I got into a giant fight with my father, who was giving me a hard time about the way I was dressed, and he had gone so far as to call me a whore. Well, I went right out and got me a tattoo right above my ass (where one would normally get what is so charmingly referred to as a “tramp stamp”) that reads OVER TEN BILLION SERVED in a very pretty script. Not long after my father saw it, I moved away to Halesowen, England to follow some boy I’d become enamoured with. (You can read all about that here)
The truth: No, I didn’t get the tattoo — though that would have pissed dad off something fierce. I did run away to England, so there’s that. And now you know my sneaky trick — that I may have mixed in some truth with the lies to throw you off the scent. I stole the tattoo part of this story from a girl I knew in high school who was somewhat less than mentally stable. When she had that fight with her father, instead of going out and getting a tattoo, she caved the word WHORE into her chest. Poor girl. For some reason, carving words into one’s flesh was the way of acting out when I was a teenager. Sorry Perry, I know you were looking forward to a shot of me in my Calvins, but that will have to wait for another occasion, darling.