Tattoos: Why Not Just Ask That Guy At The Bus Stop To Give You Herpes Instead?

Today at lunch I sat across the room from a shapely redhead: cute face, nice body, low-cut-top and a tongue-ring. She flashed a look at me over her sunglasses in that way women do. It’s a look that seems to say, “If you can’t impress me from across the room in 4 seconds, I’m mace-ing you next time you make eye-contact.”

I was checking her out…but not because I was attracted to her. See, she had a banging body, a great face, and perhaps the ugliest tattoos in creation covering her arms and shoulders. It started at her elbow and was solid ink all the way up to her collar-bone. The tips of what I assumed to be flowers rose out of her tube-top and ran up to her neck. I’m sure she thought it was the hottest thing in the world, but all I could think of was the red asses on those baboons in the zoo.

I think, if done correctly, tattoos can be really hot. Unfortunately, in the history of the entire world, only eight people have gotten it done right. Here’s the problem with girls who have a hot tattoo: they see it, decide it looks great and then they decide to get another. And then two more. Pretty soon, they’re getting a life-size depiction across their face and chest of Gene Simmons shitting into the mouth of a chimp.

The maximum number of tattoos that a woman can have and still be considered hot is three. After that, you’re a pair of busted leather pants away from blowing bikers behind a truck-stop Denny’s.

I hear so many people say, “It’s art! I’m just expressing myself!” They don’t hang the Mona Lisa an inch from a giant, sweating, ass-crack. And think about this: if you have a Rembrandt, a Picasso, and a Pollack, you wouldn’t cram them all onto one, six-foot wall in your house. While each might be individually pretty, they all conflict with each other in close quarters. It’s too much for the eye to take in.

Also, for something that’s supposed to be a true expression of one’s individuality, I see an awful lot of ugly, generic tattoos floating around. Here’s a tip: getting a flower, star, moon, heart, or unicorn in the small of your back doesn’t really express who you are. Unless, of course, you’re trying to say, “I have no taste.”

I had the urge to get a tattoo once. Then I decided I’d just buy a new T-Shirt instead. Bam, problem solved. No needle, no fat sweaty-guy strung out on crystal meth hunched over me in the back of a store somewhere, and no regrets. Tomorrow, next week, 50 years from now, I can always go out and buy another shirt. I know what you're going to say. “I know what’s cool! I wouldn’t get anything tacky tattooed on my body!” Really? 20 years ago I thought jams and parachute pants were cool. 15 years ago people thought Vanilla Ice was cool. For some reason, people keep going to see Brendan Frasier movies. Seriously, Brendan, give it up. You’ve proven that you’ll do any script that falls in front of you. I heard that you thought your kid's copy of See Spot Run was your next project. Hard Core Porn actresses have done less humiliating things in front of the camera.

My point is, if you’re looking for a way to permanently mark up your body, consider Herpes: it’s cheaper, easier to get, and you can share it with your friends. Plus, in 50 years when your belly sags down over your genitals, it’ll look the same as that lame-ass heart you got on your navel when you were 19.