Is it just me or is that Betty White on your inner thigh?

As those of you that follow this thing know, we've seen some terrible tattoos in our time. We've even seen a few that are so ridiculous--so audacious--they turn terrible on it's ear and somehow emerge as pure awesomeness.

Yep. It's rare but it does happen. Anyone recall the Swayzaur? Yeah, exactly.

However, even the Swayzaur pales in comparison to this masterpiece in sheer absurdity.

Holy fuck, right?!

Not only do we have a Mt. Rushmore-esque panorama of Golden Girl deliciousness slathered across a set of thighs (the owner of which definitely seems too young to recall Blanche, Rose, Dorothy and Sophia in prime--or post-prime--glory) but we also have the phrase "Stay Gold." For those of you too young to recall, "Stay Gold" is the most famous quote from the 1983 movie The Outsiders, a quote that's actually in reference to the Robert Frost poem "Nothing Gold Can Stay."

All in all, this tat is a masterpiece in homage to the 80's. Sure, it won't look too pretty when it's owner is carrying it around 30 years from now, but I think that's a small price to pay to rock such unadulterated awesomeness. Even if only for a little while. Cheers.

Gayness finds a mascot. And there was much rejoicing.

One of the "advancements" of society that I'm most thankful for is a general acceptance of tattoos. I mean, when I was kid, pretty much the only people that had tattoos were soldiers, sailors and felons. Nowadays, you can catch some ink on doctors, lawyers and pretty much anyone else and it's no big deal.

Personally, I love tattoos. I have several, and plan on getting more. I like looking at tattoos, especially when they are located on attractive female real estate. This, in point of fact, is probably my biggest bitch about living in Michigan. Not the weather (2nd) or the lack of good sushi (3rd) but the virtual absence of hot chicks with tattoos.

Back in Cali I can go to any bar or club and check out a veritable bevy of hotties with ink--not to mention abs and fake boobs, all of which comprise B2K's Holy Trinity of Hotness--but in A2 and surrounds, babes like that seem to be an endangered species. But I'm waxing tangential right now. The point of this blog today wasn't about good tattoos, no matter how delicious their location. Nope, this one is about bad tattoos.

I've seen some bad tattoos in my day. Alot of them, actually. I have a cousin that has been striving since he was 15 years old to be Professional White Trash, so I can thank Rob for much of that. In addition, if you spend any time in a South Georgia trailer park (and I've spent alot of time there, folks) you will indubitably see some bad ink.

However, all the bad ink I've ever personally winessed doesn't even come close to something I saw today. Imagine a mental picture of Neal Patrick Harris wearing assless chaps and riding a unicorn. Now imagine that picture committed to ink on your flesh in a very, very permanent fashion. Got the idea?



Okay, so it's Patrick Swayze and not NPH. And he's not riding a unicorn, but he's a fuckin centaur! And there's no assless chaps involved but, comsidering the rest of the tattoo, there probably should be. This thing isn't even bad in the usual sense; is so awesomely bad that it's kind of cool. Seriously. I mean, if I was gay, I would have thi shit as my coat-of-arms. Dragon in flight or lion rampant? Fuck that, gimme the Swayzaur.

That is all. Cheers, people.