When I was growing up, tattoos were still cool. Only bikers and sailors displayed them publicly, and if you were lucky enough to find a girl with one, well saddle up, because you were about to get chlamydia.
Now, every dumbass has at least three of them, and if you find a skank who doesn’t have a tramp stamp, ankle tattoo or some Chinese character that might be an item off a food menu, it’s a surprise.
Last week, Rossie Brovent, the genius in the picture off to the right, sued her ex-boyfriend, Ryan Fitzgerald, for tattooing that giant steaming pile of shit on her back. It turns out Rossie had been cheating on Ryan with his best friend, and instead of giving her the scene from Narnia that she requested, he gave her something that better captured her soul and personality.
The best part of all this, Ryan had this stupid bitch sign a contract saying the tattoo was at the “artist’s discretion” so hopefully, her case will be thrown out of court.
I still appreciate some tattoos, and great artwork is still great art. I just don’t get the tribal designs and other cookie-cutter crap people seem to choose. I think if all tattoos were up to the artist’s discretion, there would not only be fewer of them, but they would be a lot more interesting.