Posted on 08/11/2012 10:05:59 PM PDT by nickcarraway
Basically it is a woman’s public advertisement that she is willing and expecting to be used as a receptacle in the doggie position.
I see a lot of people exposed to one degree or another four or five days a week in the gym.
Nothing looks dumber than brand new ink on a tired old body.
Back in our early 50s, the wife and I went to dinner with our best friends. Wife of the other couple told us she had gotten tattooed since we last saw her. ...I asked if we had to go swimming to see it.
She told us we were looking at her tattoos. We gave up, and she then showed us that it was her eye liner that was tattooed and she would never have to apply it again.
That’s about the only kind of tattoo that I think is practical.
Really?
Agree totally. Why mark up a body even whose skin is fearfully and wonderfully made and glorifies its Maker, and that my soul knoweth right well.
Putting a tattoo on it would be like painting a mustache on the Mona Lisa, thinking, "I'll improve it, just a little -- add a little personal touch."
Permanently marking your body is like having a nice white shirt with a big ink stain on the pocket. Is that an ... improvement? something to be admired? to show off? to be ... special?
The only mark of military service that I revere is a wounded body, mind, or heart.
I certainly wouldn’t put anyone of my own close acquaintance in the category of “tired” or “old.”
(I make it a point to only befriend those whose words and attitudes put them in the category of “classic” and “timeless.”)
You mean like these"
*rimshot*
Krankor’s here all week, folks! Try the veal! :-)
Just never saw a design I wanted to wear that long.
No, Granny, a press on is “a bit of a whim” not permenant needle and ink scarring your skin. Sorry, but pink jaguars with sticking out tongues, tweetie birds and hello kitties are childish and will be out of fashion before the ink is dry. Everytime you change your shirt or buy a new pair of shoes, just remember that moment of stupid is never going to change into anything but a black blob over the years and years and years you’re stuck with.
When I returned home in Dec. 1963 after almost four years active duty, I was sitting in the kitchen with my parents. I had shed my blouse and shirt and was wearing a t-shirt. My mother asked me why I never got a tat. I told her that I thought she would kill me. She said that a shamrock or a harp would be acceptable. Now at age 70, I wish that I had gotten a big cobra tat on my bicep for my squadron in the Philippines. Probably a good thing that weren’t any tat parlors just off Clark Air Base’s main gate.
Personally, I don’t understand why a woman would get a tatoo. It would be like wearing the same necklace or bracelet every day for the rest of your life.
If you wish to express yourself this way, wouldn’t it be better to get a pile of the temporary tattoos? They look pretty authentic and you can switch things around every few days.
On my 50th birthday, I put a temporary skull on my arm and showed it to my mom - “Look what I did for my special day!” Took her all of five seconds to get the joke.
Full disclosure: I am totally of the age when I qualify to join the demented second-childhood brigade. I still have my full faculties, although I don't feel the need to apologize for senior moments, since I see constant signs of the same affliction in people thirty years my juniors.
I don't think it's any of my business what other people do; I just know what my attitude is towards people of any age with visible tattoos. I just give them extra personal space when out in public, and hope none of my children pick a spouse with the juvenile affectation.
I would rather not have any such as friends, and at work or social settings I simply avoid them.
The Olympics have provided a rude awakening about the "coolness" of the decision to sport "tramp stamps" and the realization that, however much the participants exhibit the adult disciplines of dedication, effort and achievement that I could never achieve in sports, they remain emotional children. The behavior behind the scenes which has been showcased more than usual this Olympic year simply underscores the dark underside of this tiny cross-section of worldwide society.
I don't have to like it, but I don't feel the need to either defend my attitude, nor to express even the mildest form of "disapproval."
It is what it is. We have much more serious socially and politically fatal tendencies to deal with. And they become increasingly pressing with each passing day. The "tramp stamp" affliction drifting into old age is a just a mild surprise.
Tattoo - The Who
Me and my brother were talking to each other
‘Bout what makes a man a man
Was it brain or brawn, or the month you were born,
We just couldn’t understand
Our old man didn’t like our appearance
He said that only women wear long hair
So me and my brother borrowed money from Mother
We knew what we had to do
We went downstairs, past the barber and gymnasium
And got our arms tattooed
Welcome to my life, tattoo
I’m a man now, thanks to you
I expect I’ll regret you
But the skin graft man won’t get you
You’ll be there when I die
Tattoo
My dad beat me ‘cause mine said “Mother”
But my mother naturally liked it and beat my brother
‘Cause his tattoo was of a lady in the nude
And my mother thought that was extremely rude
Welcome to my life, tattoo
We’ve a long time together, me and you
I expect I’ll regret you
But the skin graft man won’t get you
You’ll be there when I die
Tattoo
Now I’m older, I’m tattooed all over
My wife is tattooed too
A rooty-toot-toot, A rooty-tooty-toot-toot
Rooty-toot-toot tattoo too
To you
I'm glad it's a "free" country (so far). Your choice.
I'm old enough that were I at Auschwitz, or Dachau, or Bergen-Belsen, and and one of the untermenschen, I could have gotten six at the state's expense. Shows how they marked-down bodies of little value.
Ciao --
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