All of this happens on a reported $30 million budget. If Wikus can help Christopher and his child, an alien pipsqueak known as Little CJ, get their mothership up and running, they can make him human again before they blast off for their home planet. The story follows an officious bureaucrat, Wikus, who finds himself in an unlikely partnership with an alien named Christopher Johnson after he inhales a mysterious substance that starts to transform him into an insect-like alien body. In the film, produced by Peter Jackon's Wingnut Films, extra-terrestrial visitors have been segregated to a section of Johannesburg known as "District 9", where they live in squalid conditions as their mysteriously disabled mothership hovers overhead. Thankfully my second artist managed to make it look much better but that experience will stay with me forever.One of the year's major success stories was the release of District 9, a science-fiction film set in South Africa that worked as an unconventional buddy film, a gritty action movie, and an imaginative parable of Apartheid and xenophobia. The guy had really fucked up and now it’s on my forever. When I went to another artist to get it fixed, his frustration was palpable.
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He has no idea how to use light colors and left some lovely scars on me as well AND he’s wayyyy over priced. For a google review?! The balls on this guy! Come to find out, this dude is diabetic and his hands shake frequently. My boyfriend never got a tattoo from him and we left a couple honest reviews on google detailing my experience with that jerk. A week later my tattoo has scabbed over and revealed the messy line work and over all sloppiness of the tattoo, even though I took good care of it. Now, I’m 18 at this point and just want the damn thing I already paid for and so we settled on a design and he tattooed me. Fine, I tried to explain what I wanted and he kept pushing his ideas onto me and rejecting my own. He then tells me he can’t do the exact design I wanted because it was already a tattoo. Oh, I forgot to mention, this guy owns the tattoo shop and claims to be licensed by Lucas Films to do Star Wars tattoos. I wanted a TIE fighter inside the imperial logo done in pointillism and had sent him a picture months in advance. This artist had done a couple of my friends tattoos and I liked his work so I kept my cool. He informed us later that he would only have time for one. We specifically asked to get our tattoos together and thought that was what we were paying for.
After putting down $200 nonrefundable deposit for our tattoos, the guy made us wait an hour to even talk to him because he was taking a “smoke break”. We didn’t talk about it again until after he told me he loved me. He asked me if I had said anything important afterwards and I replied with a discreet.
I didn’t love him.Īnd then an “I love your dick” turned into an “I love you” while he was the slamming the shit out of me and instead of admitting to anything, I shut my eyes real tight and pretended it didn’t happen.
Us, in the end because, that’s all that seemed to matter.īut I didn’t love him. Biting my tongue when he we laughed so hard I snorted or when we spoke openly about who we were or when he tenderly stroked my face and looked so deeply into my eyes the rest of the world fell away and all I could see was us. Over and over in my head for a week straight. It’s too early, he’s too perfect, there’s gotta be some major flaw I haven’t discovered yet. But we hadn’t been dating for very long so the strong feelings could be accredited to the mind-blowing sex. It was like every good drug induced feeling all rolled up into this warm, smiling security. I kept rehearsing in my head, “don’t say it first and don’t say it during sex.” The sex was. It was too early, he was too perfect, I was too quick to fall for those dimples. I knew I loved him when I constantly had to remind myself that I didn’t.