Nothing says early aughts like the tramp stamp. Why women ever thought this was a good look for their beer shelf is beyond me. I guess some men find it attractive. To them, a tramp stamp says “I’m easy.” To me it says “Free hepatitis.” But I’m not against a woman having one, just err on the side of caution and ONLY get one of the following designs.
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“Mommy, why do you have, ‘My name is Kelly’ written on your back twice and one is upside down?”
“Honey, I can’t stand it when I’m doing some stranger and he forgets my name. This way, no matter which end of me he is doing, he’ll know it’s Kelly.”
We got it the first time.
You think it says My name is kelly on her boobs too?
Forehead.
You sir, are an im-poster. I challenge you to a duel.
Very well sir. Feral cats at 10 paces?
I find I can only stare at the Ty Walker special (mark) because it’s kinda cool yet so massively confusing in a sexual kind of way…kinda like jr. high.
Read your sentence without the word you put in parenthesis. I think you meant to use quotes
Precarious punctuation was beside the point.
(pun intended)
The definition of a party pooper is one who takes something which should be fun and sucks the joy right out of it. This book appears to be the primest example ever:
http://muse.jhu.edu/login?uri=/journals/hypatia/v019/19.1tuana.html
I think i dated her? *Gunshot*
Guess which ones are Mike’s ex-wives and he’ll buy you a shot at the next PT gig.
[...] Tramp Stamps Revisited (gordonkeith.wordpress.com) [...]
Tragically, the “My Name is Kelly” TS is photoshopped.
gotta go with the douchebag of the week
http://barsballsandboobs.com/images/24698970_mxg6.jpg
“Do you like Steak?”
I kinda have a tramp stamp. Does it count if I have bleached out area of skin on my lower back from all the gremen shot there?
Mike MR McDermott
Bee-Oh-Oh-Em. Boom. El-Oh-El. Kill me… or destroy that commercial. Whatevs.
Instant tune out. Hello 101.1.
Look at the date on this, man. Please update this. Some of us are trapped all day long and
need regular updates to keep from going insane.
Please don’t make me eat my eyeball.
Placenta….it’s what’s for dinner.
http://nymag.com/news/features/placenta-2011-8/