So, after cleaning up all the scrapes and scraps and cuts and bits that came from my fight with the garden, I tried to be extra conscientious about keeping it clean and sterilized and, of course, it took about a day and a half to get infected. I wound up on antibiotics that I finished yesterday, yay, with only puking once. Any prescription that ends in “…xin” is guaranteed to do a job on my delicate stomach. So that’s over, I’m guzzling yogurt to replace all the flora and fauna that the meds killed off in my gut and things will be great very soon.
In the meantime, let us turn our attention to a much more appealing topic, the ever popular Muscle Pussy. I always try to include some example of it in my posts because 1) it amuses me and 2) there is so much of it available now through the magic of the internet. When I was a young poof, I could never have dreamed of a day when there was such a wealth of beefcake spread out before us.
Usually, I just paste up some taut skinned youth and don’t really discuss it, but today I have to protest this beauty’s tragic choice of body adornment, or “ink” as the youth of today would have it.
Look at that flawless, smooth, clear, satiny skin, tagged with the stupidest array of strip mall tattoo parlor art I’ve ever seen. It looks like he just wandered in between his shifts at the Olive Garden and had them slap on whatever they had time to finish before he had to get back to work.
Oddly enough, considering what an old codger I am, I don’t mind tattoos in general, but if you’re going to cover a lot of ground with them, there should be some idea or concept that pulls them together in a cohesive style. You know this boy, on the other hand, doubtless has Bart Simpson in there somewhere. “Molly.” Really? What happens when Molly decides she’s a lesbian after all and dumps you and your beautiful tits? And “1994”? I remember 1994, sort of, what about it? I know, it’s probably when he was born, which makes having this much numbnuts stupid tats just that much worse. I can’t get over how lovely his skin is. It’s like he has no pores. To cover any of it seems like a waste.
Then we have this boy, with a much more discreet and attractive… something. And I’m talking about the tattoo, by the way. I don’t know, is it backwards? So he can read it while he admires his big, fat man piece in the mirror? Is it “This end up” in latin? Who knows? And leopard skin hair! I haven’t seen leopard skin hair since I was a gay young thing. And that was a long time ago.
And this last boy just because I thought he was pretty and had such lovely eyes.
All these came courtesy of the fascinating tumblr site Sparticus 2000 . I cannot recommend cruising around there enough.