Huey just wanted to be cool–he’d tried to be cool for most of high school but nothing seemed to work–he was just hopeless. Hell, even his tattoos had ended up coming off as “cute” instead of cool. His gauges just looking silly rather than hip. When he lamented these concerns to his friend, he recommended that Huey go to a different parlor downtown which specialized in more holistic changes. Still, he’d always liked his friend, and though he was cool, so he took his advice, and signed up at the shop for their “The Works” package.
“So, what do you want?” the guy asked when he went in for a consult.
“I wanna be cool,” Huey said, and the guy cocked an eyebrow at him.
“Well, being cool is more about believing you’re cool than anything. Still, if that’s what you want, we can deliver.”
Huey nodded, and he went to the shop on Saturday, but the entire process was a whole lot more intensive than he’d expected. They seemed to be tattooing him all over, and they even applied some strange creams to his head and face which itched horribly, but he toughed it out. When they finished everything, after hours of work, they finally let him stand up and take a look at himself, and he was horrified. “What the fuck did you do to me?” he shouted.
They’d tattooed his entire body, from the tops of his feet to the base of his neck, down to his wrists. His hair had been dyed a disgusting blonde, and his small goatee had grown out into a thick horseshoe mustache, and the color difference made it obvious his hair was a dye job. He just gaped at himself, horrified, and then turned to the guy who’d done his consultation and said, “You said you’d make me cool! I look like a freak.”
“No, if you’ll remember, what I said is that being cool is all about believing you’re cool,” the man said, and then turned on the video monitor behind him, and Huey was sucked into the prismatic spiral in a matter of moments. When he woke up, he took another look at himself and smirked–damn, he looked cool as fuck. “Hey man, ya got a cig?” he asked the tattoo artist.
“I’ll trade you one for a blow job.”
“Sure man, that’s cool,” Hugh said, and swallowed the artist’s cock to the hilt.