**Tattoo Insults**: For People Who Have Regrettable Ink

If your tattoos were a song, they'd be the kind of earworm that gets stuck in your head and refuses to leave, no matter how hard you try to forget it.

It's not that your tattoos are ugly; it's just that they're so visually arresting, they've taken on a life of their own – a life that's apparently dedicated to making everyone question your sanity.

I've seen less tattoos on a sailor, and at least his were interesting stories of adventure and travel, not just drunken mistakes from a Tuesday.

I'm not criticizing your tattoos; I'm just observing that they seem to have been drawn by someone who hates you, or possibly just hates art in general.

It's like you decided to turn your body into a comic book, but instead of superheroes, it's just a jumbled mess of poorly drawn panels and confused storytelling.

Your tattoos are like a piece of conceptual art – they're not actually art, but they're making a statement, mainly about the decline of good taste and the importance of spell-checking.

It looks like you decided to use your body as a notebook, jotting down every bad idea that came into your head, and then deciding to make them permanent.

Your tattoos are like a time capsule, a snapshot of all the worst decisions you made during your early twenties, preserved forever in ink.

If I had to describe your tattoos in a color, it would be 'burnt orange', the color of caution tape and biohazard warnings.

Your body is a temple, and your tattoos are the graffiti that someone tagged on the side, making the whole thing look run-down and neglected.

If I had to guess, I'd say your tattoos are a form of cry for help, a desperate attempt to get someone, anyone, to notice you and maybe, just maybe, give you a hug and tell you everything will be okay.

Your body is a canvas, and your tattoos are the equivalent of someone who decided to paint their masterpiece with their non-dominant foot while blindfolded.

You must have gotten your tattoos from a traveling carnival, the kind that comes to town once a year and leaves a trail of regret and poor life decisions in its wake.

If your tattoos could be described in one word, it would be 'regrettable', mainly because that's the only word that comes to mind when looking at them.

It looks like you hired a tattoo artist who specializes in abstract art, or possibly just abstract concepts, like the idea of good taste.

You must have gotten your tattoos from a magical genie who granted you three wishes, and your third wish was for a bunch of tattoos that you would later regret.

If I had to describe your tattoos in a texture, it would be the kind of rough, sandpapery feel that you get when you rub against a cactus, mainly because that's what they look like – prickly, uncomfortable, and just plain bad for you.

If your tattoos were a sport, they'd be the kind of extreme sport that only a few crazy people participate in, like base jumping or big wave surfing, except instead of being exciting, it's just a bunch of poorly drawn ink on your body.

You must have decided to get tattoos as a way to express your creativity, but all they really express is your lack of originality and good taste.

If I had to guess, I'd say your tattoos are a form of self-sabotage, a way to punish yourself for all the success and happiness you've had in your life.

Your body is a temple, and your tattoos are the equivalent of someone who decided to decorate the temple with a bunch of neon signs and graffiti, making the whole thing look gaudy and tacky.

You must have gotten your tattoos from a parallel universe where good taste and aesthetics don't exist, and all that's left is a bunch of poorly drawn ink and regret.

If your tattoos were a type of food, they'd be the kind of spoiled, rotten food that you find in the back of the fridge, mainly because that's what they look like – unappetizing, unpleasant, and just plain bad for you.

Your tattoos are the human embodiment of the phrase 'when life gives you lemons, make lemonade', except instead of lemons, life gave you a bunch of poorly drawn ink, and instead of lemonade, you got a face full of regret.

If your tattoos could be described as a type of animal, it would be the kind of animal that's always getting into trouble, like a raccoon or a possum, mainly because that's what they look like – pesky, annoying, and just plain bad news.

If I had to describe your tattoos in a color, it would be the kind of color that's always associated with warning signs and danger, like orange or yellow, mainly because that's what they look like – cautionary, ominous, and just plain bad.

If your tattoos were a type of music, they'd be the kind of music that's always playing in the background of a bad horror movie, mainly because that's what they look like – ominous, foreboding, and just plain bad.

If your tattoos were a type of food, they'd be the kind of food that's always expired and rotten, mainly because that's what they look like – unappetizing, unpleasant, and just plain bad for you.

I've seen better tattoos on a reject from a bad 90s time capsule, and at least those would be ironic by now.

I've seen better artwork on a fridge, and at least those are made by actual children.

You've got so many tattoos, I'm starting to think you're trying to make a map to help people find their way out of your dumpster fire of a life.

If your tattoos are supposed to make you look tough, they're failing miserably, because all they're doing is making you look like a try-hard who can't commit to an actual lifestyle change.

I'm not saying your tattoos are ugly, but I've seen more aesthetically pleasing arrangements of fungus on a piece of stale bread.

What's with all the tattoos? Trying to compensate for something, or just running out of space on your Trapper Keeper?

I've seen sharper lines on a participation trophy.

You must have lost a bet to end up with those tattoos, or maybe you just have a really bad lawyer who told you they were a good idea.

Those tattoos aren't going to impress anyone except maybe a blind person who's also deaf and can't smell the desperation emanating from you.

Your tattoo artist must have had a personal vendetta against you, or they were just really, really bad at their job – or both.

It looks like you got all your tattoos from a 'Tattoos for Dummies' kit and then decided to add your own special flair... of incompetence.

I'm not sure what's more impressive, the sheer number of bad decisions you've made or the fact that you managed to fit them all onto your body.

If I had a dollar for every tattoo you have, I'd have enough money to pay for the laser removal you so desperately need.

You must have gotten those tattoos as part of a sociology experiment to see how much self-respect you can lose before you hit rock bottom.

Your tattoos look like they were drawn by a kindergartener having a temper tantrum.

Those aren't tattoos; they're warnings labels for anyone who gets too close to you.

I've heard of getting tattoos to commemorate special occasions, but I've never seen someone celebrate every bad decision they've ever made with permanent ink.

You know what they say: 'A tattoo is a great way to make a permanent mistake that will cost thousands to fix.'

Your tattoos are the human embodiment of a browser with too many unnecessary toolbars installed.

I've seen people with more tattoos at a retirement home, and at least theirs were just from World War II.

It's not that your tattoos are bad; it's just that they're so bad, they've crossed over into being good, but only in the sense that a train wreck is fascinating to watch from a safe distance.

I've seen nicer tattoos on a Hot Topic employee, and at least theirs came with a 30-day return policy.

If your tattoos could be summed up in one word, it would be 'why?'

Your tattoos are like the warnings on a pack of cigarettes – a cautionary tale about the dangers of acting on impulse.

You must have decided to get tattoos as a way to rebel against your parents, but now that you're older, they just make you look like you're trying too hard to fit in with the kids.

Your tattoos are the visual representation of your browser history – a jumbled mess of questionable choices and occasional moments of clarity.

The only thing more confusing than your tattoos is the logic behind why you got them in the first place.

If your tattoos could be expressed as a mathematical equation, it would be 'Regret + Poor Life Choices = A Lot of Ink'.