By Tim Hayes
Man, it must be love. To do something so permanently stupid, that is.
After his fiancée, Miley Cyrus, showed off a tattoo of half (half?) of a Theodore Roosevelt quotation on her arm in July, noted fellow thespian and obvious super-genius Liam Hemsworth recently debuted the tattooed continuation of the sentence on HIS arm. You can’t break the set, you know.
Miley’s reads, “So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who neither know victory nor defeat,” while Liam’s reads, “If he fails, at least fails while daring greatly.”
Umm, excuse me, Liam? Could I see you in my office, please? And bring your “How Not to be a Dope” employee manual, if you wouldn’t mind. We may need to review some chapters in there before your next performance review.
Ladies and gentlemen, I believe this event offers irrefutable proof that the human race has at last officially gone off the deep end.
This isn’t Miley’s first tattoo, but it obviously is the one old “Rough & Ready” Teddy must be most proud of. No, this wunderkind also has two equal lines tattooed on her finger, symbolizing her support of gay marriage. “LOVE” has been inked on her right ear, an anchor on her wrist, “Just Breathe” under her breast, a heart on her little finger, “Love never dies” on her left arm, “VIIXCI” on her left elbow, and “BAD” carved in red ink on her middle finger.
What, no “THIS END UP” on her forehead? Somebody, get right on that! We can’t have Ms. Cyrus waiting!
Her largest tattoo, a “dream-catcher,” decorates her ribcage. People magazine is breathlessly reporting she’s planning a “hepatitis-catcher” on her leg, just in case somebody doesn’t use a clean tattoo needle someday.
Destiny Hope Cyrus, 19, earned the nickname “Miley” because she smiled so much as a toddler. Her first nickname was “Smiley,” which soon got shortened to her more famous moniker. I think we ought to start a new nickname for her. Oh, I don’t know, something like “Smidiot.” You can shorten that however you like.
“Saturday Night Live” did a takeoff on tattoos a few years ago, showing a woman who had something like “Sexy Lady” inked above her backside while on spring break in college. Using time-lapse photography, by the time she was in her 40s with three kids, it had stretched out and looked more like “Sad Loser.” It takes more than a Pink Pearl eraser to remove one of those bad boys, folks. Once you got it, you pretty much got it for life.
You may have picked up, tucked masterfully between the lines of my witty and clever writing, that I don’t like or understand or appreciate tattoos. If that condemns me to the great steaming heap of fuddy-duddy-dom, so be it.
One of the most shocking days of my life happened when I saw a photo of personal movie hero Sylvester Stallone shirtless, at 60-plus years of age, sporting an enormous tattoo across his back and almost the length of one arm.
Sly! That’s like taking a can of purple Rust-Oleum to DaVinci’s “Last Supper!” Why, Sly? Why?
Do people vandalize their own bodies for the sake of self-expression? Here’s an idea: Start a blog!
Do they mark themselves up with strange illustrations to protest something? Write a letter to the editor!
Do they alter their appearance permanently for what probably is a temporary passion? Silk-screen a t-shirt!
Of course, one can do whatever one chooses. But this “one” ain’t ever doing that. Tattoo you? Whatever. Tattoo me? Over my dead, clean-slate, body.
Copyright 2012 Tim Hayes Consulting