A definite "Do." By A. Munro

Tattoos can be hit or miss.
In order to work they must strike a perfect balance between "meaningful" and "cool" without seeming pretentious...Too often boys' idea of the perfect ink stamp involves some hideous version of a tribal arm band or a "family crest" they dug up while rummaging through dad's porn collection in the basement that strangely enough ends up on their ankle. One would think it would be much easier, and less painful, to write "i'm a douchebag" instead.
Another area that send shivers down my spine is the obligatory Latin phrase across a boy's shoulders. Perhaps there should be a rule that requires people to actually understand Latin before putting it on their bodies? Yes, the same rule applies to any Asian symbols you are thinking about.

...There are however times when one sees a tattoo so fabulous that breathing becomes difficult. To catch a glimpse of hidden piece of art that perfectly compliments the boy in question is enough to consider giving out one's phone number. When it is also creative and obviously painful (location, size, etc) the points skyrocket. And if, God help us, the boy also has good style he is very likely to see us naked at some point. Well thought out sleeves, detailed sides, and yes, even the occasional wrist are catnip to a lot of us...


Tattoos, like cashmere, have the power to obscure other deficits in looks, intelligence and even sense of humor...if only for one night :)

"Don't" -the second installment, by A. Munro

...I may be at a loss for words for once in my life. What kind of tail do these MTV "The Grind" rejects pull? I mean they MUST attract some girls otherwise there is no logical explanation for this eye rape they subjected me too. Of course the girls are probably something that was pulled out of a porter-potty drain from the Rock of Love bus and navigating amidst all the herpes sores can be a challenge but one should never look a gift horse in the mouth right? Perhaps it is the knowledge that when you're sneaking out of her motel room at 5am in your tattered designer jeans carrying your tailored "cowboy" leather shirt casually over your shoulder as a trail of orange tan lingers on the pillow you know that you are the epitome of style and everything your dad wanted his boy to be.


Excuse me...need bucket...

"Don't" -the first installment, by A. Munro

It is one thing to walk into a club and see dozens of metro’d out boys in their ironed Affliction shirts and white stitched True Religion’s but it takes a special kind of douche-bag to break out the white leather shoes.They are always at least two sizes too big (insert own “over-compe...nsation” joke here) and made of some endangered animal. Forget the fact that this dick has been directly responsible for the slaughter of a sweet little alligator that would have looked much better as a purse for us. No, what’s most insulting is that he is so confident that every girl will beg to be his one-night concubine that he dons these atrocities with a casual candor that begs to be stabbed in the eye with a stiletto.

New contributing writer: Anastacia Munro

I felt like my blog needed a female perspective, so I asked my good girlfriends Stacy and Billie to contribute to the blog in a way only they can. Here's the first installment:

Black cashmere combined with perfectly worn-in jeans on a boy is the equivalent of a magic eraser. We won’t see the dirty hair, won’t notice the nonchalant rude comments and will even ignore the obvious signs that this will be another gut-wrenching waste of our time. We will see this - a demi-god created from the ashes of James Dean, old rock and roll and perfect taste that will make us weak at the knees. The point is Black Cashmere = Sex.

Excuse us while we go collect ourselves off the floor…