My friend Eddie Peralta, a tattoo virtuoso hailing from New Jersey, possesses a treasure trove of stories that are as cringe-inducing as they are comical. For years, I’ve been on a personal crusade to convince him to compile these tales into a book – a testament to the truly bizarre tattoo requests he’s encountered. Sadly, Eddie remains resistant. Perhaps he feels a pang of sympathy for those now adorned with questionable ink, or maybe he’s simply hesitant to publicly associate his name with these early… experiments. Whatever the reason, his reluctance is a disservice to the world, a world that deserves to witness the photographic evidence of his formative years in the gritty tattoo scene of Elizabeth, New Jersey – a time when he was, in his words, “making his bones” by permanently etching some truly awful tattoos onto unsuspecting skin.
Let me be clear: Eddie is now an incredibly skilled artist. But in those early days, his talent was undeniably squandered on some of the most spectacularly bad tattoo ideas imaginable. And we’re not talking about ironic avocado toast tattoos or quirky mustache finger tattoos that might raise an eyebrow today. We’re talking about truly bewildering concepts, the kind that leave you questioning the very nature of human decision-making. Think praying hands clutching a machete or an Uzi, poised for some kind of heavily armed divine intervention. He’s shared so many jaw-dropping photos with me over the years that it’s hard to pinpoint the absolute worst. But one contender definitely springs to mind: the colossal kanji symbol for “strength,” boldly accompanied by the word “strength” spelled out in an enormous font beneath it, exactly as it appeared on the reference flashcard. Eddie, bless his soul, attempted to gently steer the client away from the redundant English translation, suggesting, “Hey, man, that might be a little… redundant.” The client, whose grasp of English was as tenuous as his understanding of Japanese nuance, turned to his entourage and declared with pride, “See! He said my shit is gonna be redundant, son!”
I’m fairly certain the majority of these photographic gems date back to the mid-90s, an era vividly brought to life by one particular image: a buxom BBW, generously blessed in the chest department. She commissioned Ed to immortalize Tupac Shakur on her left breast and The Notorious B.I.G. on her right. As if that wasn’t iconic enough, she then requested a massive sacred heart be emblazoned across her sternum, uniting the two rap legends, underscored by the heartfelt inscription: forever in my heart. It’s the kind of tattoo that tells a story, albeit a slightly… complicated one.
Then there’s the Snoop Dogg story. Remember Snoop Dogg’s groundbreaking 1993 music video for “Who Am I?”? The one where Snoop and his crew morph into a pack of dogs, an artistic choice I can only assume was inspired by the timeless C. M. Coolidge paintings of canines engaged in poker and other human-like activities. That song, a West Coast anthem, surprisingly resonated even with the often skeptical East Coast hip-hop aficionados. And it clearly struck a chord with one particular gentleman in Elizabeth. He walked into Eddie’s shop with a photograph and a vision. He wanted his three sons immortalized on his shoulder. He presented Ed with the clearest snapshot he had of his three boys and requested a portrait sketch. But before Ed could even put pencil to paper, the doting father began layering on the “just one more thing” requests. First, he insisted that all three boys be wearing hats. Apparently, hats were non-negotiable in their family. The youngest son, baseball cap, backwards, always. The eldest, a Kangol, perpetually askew. The middle son lacked a signature hat style, so the dad granted Ed creative license, though he did express a preference for a fedora. Ed, ever the professional, nodded and began to sketch. “Oh,” the dad interjected again, “Do you think you could make them look a bit younger? Not babies, but… younger.” Another nod, another revision. “And just one more thing,” the dad added, almost as an afterthought, “Could you draw them as pit bulls?” Ed paused, photo in hand, and with a mixture of bewilderment and professional curiosity, asked, “Why did you bring me this picture?” The dad, utterly unfazed, replied matter-of-factly, “As a reference.” And with that, Eddie embarked on creating what I can only imagine was the most magnificent portrait of three pit bulls in hats the world has ever seen. The only way it could have been more epic? If they were playing poker, maybe throwing dice, or perhaps even listening to some classic G-funk.
These stories, these glimpses into the world of truly questionable tattoo choices, are a reminder that sometimes, the Worst Tattoos aren’t born of bad artistry, but of wonderfully, terribly, hilariously bad ideas. And for that, we can almost be grateful.
