Posted on 03/13/2013 10:22:13 PM PDT by Slings and Arrows
Spray paint on a Rembrandt.
>>I always heard that a teardrop means you have killed someone.
It seems that is the usual meaning but there are a whole bunch of other ones depending on ‘cultures’ and countries, ranging from having a ‘bad’ childhood to having been raped in prison (I assume that one is not worn voluntarily!) to losing a loved one to the Australian meaning of child rapist.
Good call. It’s been my experience that most women with visible tattoos have some serious problems.
The journalist who wrote this article is obviously also a genius.
LOL
“Liberals. You can’t live with ‘em, and you can’t just shoot ‘em.
Another time, same butthead, I had a shiner, and she insisted! that I was a battered wife.
Actually, I really had walked into a door, literally. Anybody who knows me and Bryan would
believe that in a second, but not this one. She was going to call the cops on Bryan! I got out my
big guns (I told my boss to make her back off), and she left me alone. My boss knows Bryan
and is a friend of mine. We still email and exchange Christmas cards 17 years after I left the job.”
OH! Sorry Bryan. You have the same name, obviously, as my husband, LOL!
Didn’t mean to take yours in vain.
I hope that one’s a decal!
Him too.
True dat.
It’s not a deal-breaker for me, but it’s darn sure not a plus.
What, you wouldn’t want “Genius” to do your taxes?
...plus exhibitionism. Bad combination.
Sheesh. Some people can mind everyone’s business but their own.
Charming fellow, him.
I got through four years in the military and emergency untatted . I’m sure that if had one, my late wife wouldn’t have given me a second look, nor would my new bride. My favorite niece has a wee shamrock tat on the inside of her left ankle. My long-lost cousin had a bigger shamrock on the outside of his ankle.
The journalist who wrote this article also most likely spells ‘jail’ with a ‘g’ and an ‘o’.
No problem. I just thought it was hilarious. It’s a very common name, I’ve learned. The Irish carry it with them everywhere they go.
My Bryan was born in a suburb of London. He’s an American citizen now, though. His father was a Cockney pressman who worked on Fleet Street and spoke (and taught me) Cockney slang, if you Adam it, and his mother was Swiss. They were great in-laws.
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