My entire back is covered with a jellyfish that’s eating Chiang Kai-shek and Fidel Castro, and my arms and legs are covered, too. Even the inside of my lip is tattooed. This seemed like a great idea when life consisted of playing in bands and drinking in bars, but don’t people with tattoos realize there’s life after 30? Every time I go to the water park with the kids or take a vacation I am the Coney Island Freak Show standing in the corner like a mental patient who joined MS-13. Tattoos are just a gigantic green Mohawk you can’t shave off. Way to go, me.