Why Tattoos May Be The First of Many Bad Decisions In Your Life

Walking around downtown today, I saw so many young girls with tattoos. I could only see their tatts because they were wearing as few clothes as humanly possible in order to show off their artwork. Apparently you can take a pair of pantyhose , slash them with scissors and call it a top. Attention seekers or personal expressionists? I guess both. Well ladies I have some great news for you: as time passes, you’ll get even more attention and be able to make even more of a flesh statement! That flower you got tattooed on your ribcage? It will bloom when your bra fat migrates around under your armpit as you roll into your 40’s! All that art below your belly button? That will fold over on itself and look like a day old ham sandwich once you stretch out and breed.

That super meaningful chinese character that you got on your neck, just below your ear? Gonna look so amazing when you get those tree trunk lines in your neck and your extra chin and sagging jawline folds down to frame it. That colorful mural just above your boobs? Whoa baby! When your tits drop and splay like tennis balls in a pair of old gym socks, that shit is gonna be sexy AF! Think balled up old newsprint meets shredded cabbage! Oh and that arm sleeve will wilt into holy hotness as you age. I’d suggest getting a bird tatt in there somewhere, and have the wings wrap around the back part of your arm – those will flap like crazy one day when you grow fatwings!

That oh-so sultry lower back ink is going to drop and spread wider than your legs. So might be best to get something that will make sense in your later years: maybe a fancy chair that will stretch out into a hospital bed? What about that upper ass tatt of a kitty kat? That will look so fine when it’s all dimply, stretched and dumpy from the collision of gravity and cellulite. Hello Kitty will become Hello Pity! You’ll be so salty you won’t know what to do with yourself! I mean wow – I can’t wait to see that that! Then I guess I’ll have to reluctantly admit that I was wrong not to ink up when I was young.