Black Friday Is Almost Here!
The Inventory team is rounding up deals you don’t want to miss, now through Cyber Monday. Click here to browse!

Tell Us About (But Really, Show Us) Your Terrible Tattoos

Dude, Where’s My Car? (2000)
Dude, Where’s My Car? (2000)
Screenshot: 20th Century Studios

Earlier this week, a friend of mine tweeted, “everyone’s tattoos—mine included—are terrible.” I flip-flop on the issue, but most days I tend to agree: Even the tattoos you may think are cool, especially those that you view as “so bad they’re good,” are genuinely pretty bad. I’m guilty of it. I have more half-assed stick-and-pokes than I’d care to admit, which leads me to believe... maybe Jezebel readers (or the families and friends of Jezebel readers) also have horrible tattoos. If so, let’s see ‘em! If you can’t show ‘em, describe them in excruciating detail! I’m confident nothing will ever beat the time I met a man at a bar who had a giant “METAL” tramp stamp, like the genre of music, but I’d love it if you went ahead and tried.

Advertisement

But before all that, let’s check out last week’s winners. Here’s the time you caught someone in a lie:

Um, cafecitoporfa, this is weirdly so sweet?:

Burner to not self-dox - I caught my then boyfriend, now husband in a lie once. I came into a room, and he was listening to headphones intensely. I asked him what he was listening to, and he said “NPR”. I thought nothing of it, and went about my day, until about half an hour later he came to me, crying. He was listening to sports radio, a particularly sexist crass announcer, but the only one who was playing his sports ball game, and he felt so bad for lying to me about it that he’d been crying since I asked him. And that’s how good a liar my husband is. It’s sort of nice, but also sometimes a bummer when he’s not able to pull off a social lie to get us out of something we don’t want to do, or can’t pull off a nice surprise. But it’s still cute so I guess I’ll stick with him!

Advertisement

mnemophylax, oh my god?:

My mother hates animals. When I was a kid, my father let us get a kitten and then brought it home all, “hey, guess what” when it was too late for my mother to say no (but she refused to let the cat inside the house, outdoor only). Two years later my parents divorced and sold the house, and my mother moved us out of state - but left the cat behind, telling us that the people who’d bought the house had asked to keep it. I was nine and already dealing with a lot of stuff, so I didn’t question it.

A couple decades later I brought it up to my sisters, wondering if “the people who bought the house wanted the cat” was the equivalent of “he went to live on a farm upstate.” My little sister was in a fuck-it kind of mood, and so texted my mother to ask if they really wanted the cat.

Mother: “The people who bought it were moving in the next day and asked for the cat so I left it in the garage with some food.”

Sister: “...but we ran out of cat food three days before we moved and you fed the cat Rice Krispies because you didn’t want to buy more, how did you leave food?”

Mother: “Oh, I guess we did run out.”

No further response was forthcoming. Pretty sure the cat did go to live on a farm upstate.

goddessoftransitoryrisesagain, this is hilarious:

Yes! Pissing Contest is back!

I catch people in lies all the fucking time at work. They either won’t admit they don’t know how to use the app, or insist that they ordered X when I was the one who took the damn thing and verified it so I know they did NOT, or the saddest of the hardcore scammers who will just come up with endless strings of nonsense to try to score, like, a free salad. They’ll say it was full of snakes and stepped on by a rhino and the driver threw it against their door and on and on while I’m thinking “how terrible is your life that you are devoting this much of it to get a fucking ten dollar salad?”

But my favorite was back in college when we did Secret Santas but for Halloween with other people on the dorm floor. Somehow, I and the girl I drew ended up as each other’s Halloween Santas. I put some thought in to this and got her fun things like a rubber bat wearing pumpkin earrings, a card, etc. Well, not only did she not do the same, but (not realizing we were a Venn Diagram Circle) gave my shit back to me. She actually cut the image on the front of the card WITH MY WRITING ON THE BACK OF IT and slipped it under my door. I mean, even if I wasn’t—me, that still is tacky and cheap as fuck. Nobody made her sign up for this, there was a strict dollar limit so nobody went overboard, etc. She was just fucking cheap and lazy.

It was all worth it at the reveal party though. She didn’t say a word but the expression on her face was priceless.

Advertisement

Bobby Shekondar (aka helent on disqus), this absolutely qualifies as a lie:

This was probably not a lie, more a dumb thing that a gullible person believed, but it takes the The Most Ridiculous Thing Anyone Has Ever Said To Me prize.

Talking with a woman at a party, she tells me “Did you know that in America, you’re not allowed to call your baby Elvis? Yeah, the CIA won’t let you.”

I’m normally pretty unconfrontational, but I just replied “That’s not true,” and got away from her.

Advertisement

Your mom is already disappointed, why not just show us what you’re working with in the comments below?

No. Senior Writer, Jezebel. My debut book, LARGER THAN LIFE: A History of Boy Bands, is out now.

Share This Story

Get our newsletter

DISCUSSION

I had metastatic testicular cancer about 10 years ago, which resulted in a surgical scar from my pelvis to my sternum. I beat the cancer, and contemplated a decoration for a couple years. For some reason, a working lunch turned down this road, and I told my boss at the time that I was going to get an alien tattooed, coming out of my surgical scar.

Without missing a beat, he turned to me and said, “This is the kind of bad decision making I can finance.” Then he gave me $150 towards getting it done.

So I did.