A British tourist is on vacation and goes into the bathroom (loo). He is standing at the urinal when a dread-locked islander walks up next to him and begins to pee. The Englishman glances over, smiles, and says "I hope you don't find this improper, but I couldn't help noticing you have a "W" and a "Y" tattooed on your member. I also have these letters tattooed. When fully extended, it reads "Wendy", my wife's name. Are you also married to a Wendy?"

"Ah no, mon. When fully extended mine reads "Welcome to Barbados! Have a nice day!"

Anyway, tattoos are associated in my mind with Navy Veterans of World War 2, and always looked like something that needed to be scrubbed off. However, it does strike me as an amazing marketing achievement that so many half-wits choose to have the Harley-Davidson logo tattooed on their bodies. Body piercing, I believe, has little to do with beautification or individualism, and a hell of a lot to do with low self-regard and mortification of the flesh. Every person I see with rivets and knobs sticking out of their faces seems to be saying "Look at Me, for God's sake! Can't you see I'm in pain!"