Here are a few of the answers I give:
My most asked-about piercing is the one near my eye (called a “dermal”). So when people point to it and ask, “Did that hurt?” I respond with, “I didn’t feel a thing. Just like when I torture people in my dungeon—I don’t feel anything. But they do…”
When people ask, “how do they get that in?” I switch between the below stories:
- “Well, in my case, my pimp forcibly held me down and carved it into my face as his mark of ownership. You know, like how ranchers brand cows,” and then just smile cheerfully.
- “They drill it into your cheekbone. You know the power drill you have at home? Yeah, they use that. So you could make it a DIY project. Totally doable. Completely safe.”
- I don’t even directly answer the question and just say: “You know how people get tattoos of tears when they kill someone? This is my version of that.”
Sometimes people ask, “Is that a piercing or a stick-on?” I say, “Oh, it’s definitely a stick-on. I live in a perpetual game of Pretty Pretty Princess. You can take the girl out of pre-school…”
Or, I’ll say, “Neither—it’s a hidden recording device. I watch the feed every night in my basement while I sit, naked, eating Cheetos and brushing my American Girl Doll’s hair. It’s my version of a bedtime story. Smile for the camera!”
Regarding my lip piercing, I get “I like your Marilyn” a lot (because the piercing is named after Marilyn Monroe’s mole). So to that, I like to say, “I was actually going for Lemmy from Motorhead. Kinda surprised you missed that.”
And when people aren’t asking about my piercings, they’re asking about my tattoos. I have one on my upper chest, and I can’t tell you how many times someone, usually a stranger, will move my shirt aside and touch my chest to look at it. When that happens, I immediately just grab the person’s chest with my hand in return, leaving it there, and say, “Oh, we’re doing this now?” Regardless of their gender—they started it. A grope for a grope (… leaves the whole world groped?).
People will also grab my hand without asking to intently read the tattoos on my fingers. They usually ask if they’re moustaches (the idea being that I would hold my fingers up to my face and look like I have a moustache blah blah blah—BTW, I’m Greek, so I don’t need a tattooed finger to have a moustache). To that, I respond, “Yeah, it’s the Hitler stache, specifically.”
My favorite thing to say, though, when people realize the tattoos on my fingers are words and ask what they say, is, “Made you look!”