Jim used to hang around our band's practice room, AKA Russ' basement, and would try to do "sound checks" for us. One night, he even brought a strobe light, which made me dizzy, and nauseous. We were a crappy teenage metal band, that didn't have a singer, a regular bass player, or a name. We hardly needed a lightman/soundman. We needed practice....some talent would have helped, too. I had to explain to him after he re-tuned my drums once, that you don't touch a man's drums, wife, genitals, or Scotch, unless you have the express written consent of Major League Baseball.
Jim's tattoo sucked so hard that we all just kind of pretended it wasn't there. It became the horribly rendered, cross-eyed elephant on his upper arm...I don't know what/who that is supposed to be, or what that is on her forehead..she looks like she needs some sleep though. Those kooky eyes follow you around the room, too. It is pretty creepy.
Extra deduction for letting Ernie Bushmiller do your tattoo.
What this tattoo says about the wearer:
I live with my Grandma.