It began with Sean—it’s always Sean. He’s a whirlwind wrapped in denim, a man whose bloodstream pulses with equal parts Monster Energy, beard oil, and raw mischief. Sean’s ideas are rarely sane, frequently questionable, and inevitably epic. So, when he invited me to a tattoo convention in Omaha, where he’d voluntarily spend seven relentless hours beneath the buzzing needle of Jon Fleming—a Lincoln…