Have I told you lately that I hate You?

You orange-haired hippy tart. If I told you how much you've pissed me off I wouldn't have time to breathe.
Let's face it, if you become a "tattooist" in the loosest sense of the word it'll be good news for all those who specialise in cover up. The only problem is that you'll probably only do really shite tribal from the flash on impressionable tourists who think that it's cool to have a permanent holiday memory...or should that be nightmare.
As for the piercing I wouldn't let you near me with a needle, there is a certain degree of trust required and frankly you lost mine a long time ago.
Where were you when I really needed a mate to talk to eh? Where were you when I was so deep in the shit that I thought I was going under? Where were the friendly words of encouragement that I needed? And who was there when you needed to talk? Who was there to listen to your plans and offer their unconditional support? Why am I bothering to go on and on about this meaningless crap, because I care? I don't think so girlfriend. I'm only going on about it to get it out of my system. If I saw you again it would be far way too soon. So fuck off to Cornwall and don't call me.
Oh, and a word of advice - whatever you do will come back threefold, so tread lightly in sacred places and there's a lot where you're going.