Thursday night.
Two self described ‘Bros’ sitting next to me at the Local drinking Blue Balls , which they claim are shots of Fireball with cans of PBR back, were rather distressing.
It wasn’t that they dressed alike with white t-shirts and Navy blue Dickie slacks or that they had the same Man bun and long ZZ Top black beard or that they had the same sleeve of the same Jewish themed tattoos all the way down their right arms. No. What stood out was they each had a tattoo of five numbers on their left forearm and nothing else but virgin flesh no Valley tattoo artist had yet feasted upon.
I tried to put it out of my mind but the numbers were so odd I couldn’t stop stealing glances. After my second Tito’s Immaculate Conception I couldn’t stop staring.
“What are you looking at bro,” the Bro closest to me asked.
“Those numbers on your arms seem out of place,” I said.
The Bro furthest from me held up his left arm. “This is my grandfather’s tattoo number from Buchenwald bro.”
“This is my grandmother’s tattoo number from Auschwitz bro,” the Bro closest to me said.
“We’re taking back Jewish tattoos from the Nazi’s bro,” the Bro furthest from me said.
“Have a shot with us bro,” the Bro closest to me said.
While Jack the Albino poured the shots I decided to make one more attempt to explain to the Bros what their tattoos meant.
“You know those weren’t tattoos the Nazi’s put on the Jews arms. They were brands placed strategically to humiliate those people before they were murdered.”
“That’s right bro. We’re taking back our brand,” the Bro furthest from me said.
Obviously I lost the debate.
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