My idiot brother...

Got a tattoo.

'So what?' you say. 'You're half-covered in ink, like YOU can judge!'

Hey, now. I never said my tatts were works of art... they're pretty stock-standard, boring plain black jobs done by random 'artists' - some kanji on my back, song lyrics on my wrists, my precious heartagram on my leg, and of course my 'babies' - the Beretta pistols emblazoned across my chest...
But this 'tattoo' of my brother's is like nothing I've ever seen before.

I honestly thought it was a shitty texta job done last night after a few drinks, during a bored spell where he and his girlfriend couldn't agree on which of my mum's DVDs to accidentally scratch next.
Nope, turns out it's real - I know ink when I see it and I could see the scab factor dating it about roughly 3 weeks old. Why has my mother not showed up on my doorstep tearing out clumps of hair and sobbing about her wayward (borderline knuckle-headed) son's latest dumb attempt at rebellion?

Oh. Maybe he's just been hiding it from her the way I hid my DIY lip-piercing from my parents for a good month when I was 14. Oh, I was bad-ass - even my Social Studies teacher gave me a good talking-to after class the day she noticed a big silver sleeper stuck through a hole in the middle of my lower lip.

But still. This tattoo ain't even jailhouse. It don't even come close. It looks like something an 8-year-old with a brain injury scribbled on the side of his torso with a Connector Pen.
It's so, so, SO bad.

And I can't laugh about it on Facebook because my mum would be MEGA-pissed if she found out through that, instead of a phone call from ol' dibber-dobber big sis over here!

I have to take a photo for you. I know you'll laugh just as much as I did. Oh my Lord... the boy is 21 and STILL acts like a 10-year-old.
I just don't think there's hope for him.