Drawn And Courted

In thirty years, this is what the average grandfather will look like. Then again, if you had a body like this you'd want to show it off too.

In thirty years, this is what the average grandfather will look like. Then again, if you had a body like this you’d want to show it off too.


Watching the big blue juggernaut that is Kentucky continue to roll through the tournament the other night, I couldn’t help but notice that one of their players was completely sleeved up.  There wasn’t a trace of flesh anywhere to be seen from his neck to his wrists.  How old is that walking wall of grafitti?  It’s not a good sign when you’ve made that many dumb decisions before you’re even old enough to drink yet.  Even though the dope’s eleven feet tall, so his seedy back-alley Picasso can have even more human canvas to befoul, his skin’s already fifty percent camouflaged before Draft Night.  Where’s his NBA team logo gonna go?  His ass?  He better not get a new tat for every new team he plays for, in that revolving door league the dude will end up looking like a road map.

Enough already with these fuckin ink-aholics.  In the good old days, tattoos used to invariably signify stints in either prison, the armed forces, or the Yakuza.  That was it.  Next thing you know every fifteen year-old chick on the planet had some stupid butterfly on their ankle.  Upping the ante, transvestite mental case and ambassador to North Korea Dennis Rodman was the first celebrity to treat his body like a coloring book when he went to play for San Antonio, and was roundly and justifiably mocked for it.  Meanwhile, he unwittingly (could there have been any other way?) started a massive cultural trend nearly twenty years ago that’s steadily grown out of control.  This season the once unthinkably colorful Rodman would have been the least tattooed player in the league besides old-ass Steve Nash, and he’s Canadian so he doesn’t count.  Sadly nowadays it’s not just athletes, but every other asshole under the sun seemingly all trying to out-ridiculous each other with the absurd amount and demented placement of their phony artwork.  Imagine your brain surgeon walks in with a giant neck tattoo.  How the fuck fast are you bolting out the door?

It’s cliche but also true nonetheless to point out how old age will magnify the stupidity of doing to your body what cavemen did to their walls.  Although he’s likely majoring in Dr. Seuss, remember that Kentucky kid is still in college.  I can’t imagine any tattoo I would have got in college that I’d still be just as happy with at thirty.  Good thing I never followed through with my plans for that massive back mural of Bill Cosby.

But as bad as the tatted and tattered future is for dudes with psychedelic skin, it’s even more grim for their female counterparts.  Whether they know it or not, all of these poser broads are under the influence of the porn industry, although not in the way I’d prefer.  This newest female tattooing craze all started with chicks that took loads on their faces for a living, so they had a reason to cover up: shame.  Just wait a few decades before witnessing the real horror show that will be a Bizarro World of wrinkled-ass grandmothers with tramp stamps.  Forget global warming, that will be my generation’s most damaging legacy.  Nothing like the grandkids suddenly finding out that granny was a whore thanks to her bending over to pick up an errant roll at Thanksgiving dinner.  And doesn’t grandpa’s neck tattoo look terrific?  Pass the gravy please.  And the sick bags.

I just want to know how long before these Inkers (their racial epithet) start tattooing their poor doomed offspring?  You know that’s what’s coming next.  At this rate, we’ll be seeing “Tats for Tots” programs in no time.


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