I wanted to get a tattoo when I was in the Army because a lot of the guys were getting them. I decided since I didn’t have a girlfriend I’d get a heart with MOM on my bicep.
Being a bit of a coward, I knew I’d have to get well liquored up to go through with it. So I began pounding down the booze. A half a wine cooler later I was sufficiently emboldened with liquid courage. The tattoo artist looked at my skinny arm and said he might be able to fit MO on there if he made it small. By that time the powerful effects of the bottled bravery began to wear off and wisdom returned. I left uninked.
Chronographs, bore scopes and pattern boards have broke a lot of hearts.
