Bad Decisions Forever!

Last week Lover Fo’ Life celebrated his 40th birthday. Mace is my counterbalance in the universe, so naturally, he refused the 3-ring circus of a celebration that I had envisioned. Where I love to brag in capital neon, L4L is reserved and humble; he’s the Juan Valdez to my braying jackass, always reigning me in.

Dude, chill.

How could such a soft-spoken, kind, and reserved Eagle Scout end up with hee-hawing guffawer who has a penchant for leaving all her trash behind at a movie theater? Simple, bad decisions. Luckily, I was able to convince the goody-goody to allow me to hitch my jackwagon to his star. 15 years later, he’s still my best fraaand and keeps challenging me to be a nicer version of myself, (BOO HISS!)

When I asked Mr. T what he wanted on his no-big-deal birthday ice cream cake from Baskin Robbins (the B-day cake zenith for all 80’s babies,) his response was quick and snarky.

“No stupid customization.”

He blurted out a further:”I’m 40; there’s no need for dumb crap like my age and name.”

Ever the dutiful wife, wanting to honor his no-wish wishes, I decided to put exactly what he wanted on his cake.

“What are you doing to me, lady?” The manager jokingly sighed.

“Sorry, I asked my husband what he wanted on his cake, this was his answer.”

The staff started laughing, and he responded: “Well, gotta make the birthday boy happy!” 


Our Birthday Scrooge had a wonderful day and then celebrated low-key with the family; he said that it was perfect. However, I maintain if I ever have a birthday that void of glitter, everyone I love can GTFO.


So on this WACKY Wednesday, let us revel in others bad decisions. In honor of my L4L and his loving gamble on a real jerk (AKA Me), let’s look at other horrible decisions that last forever. OF COURSE I’m talking about an old grouchymuffin stalwart, TERRIBLE TATTOOS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Let’s start with a WIN. This tatt isn’t terrible, it is ART.


Between making the most out of his male pattern baldness, the jaunty eye-patch tattoo, and the subtle shout out to Chevy brand vehicles, this guy’s really got it all figured out.

In other wise tattoo wisdom…

This poem about sums up the bad tattoo decision making process.



Too esoteric for you? Here’s a fun dumb one:

I wanna tap that!

Ugh, that tramp Pac-Man will eat anything.


Because nipple related tattoos are apparently a trend in terrible tattooery, here’s one of a Geoffrey Giraffe:

Your boy’s a snake freak.


This next one’s less of a face tattoo, and more of a warning label:


Another baffling tatt trend involves anthropomorphized junk food, first up is a singing cheeseburger:

Then it instantly gets suuuuuper weird with a pin-up hotdog slathering herself in condiments.

Hot diggity WTF?


NERDCORE tattoos are always a good palate cleanser:

How Ritch.

Forever suspended alone.

Sometimes bad tattoos document a previous bad decision. Like an inception for dirt bags, if you will:

Redbull gives you…regrets.


Like that time your bestie tried to be a tattoo artist for a week.

Forever dumb.

So I told that uppity teaching lady that I didn’t need no learning…

Suck it, school!

He’s also gonna spellcheck you.

In closing, I’m 1000% sure that y’all did absolutely 0% productive things while scrolling through this nonsense, my job here is done! Maury, take the wheel!

Povitch Power!

Happy belated-on-purpose birthday, I Love you MT! (Though I still wish you hadn’t nixed my scorpion jacket gift offer.)


You would have been resplendent.



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