Everyone makes decisions differently about getting tattoos. Some people take a long time to think everything through and some people decide to do it spontaneously and emotionally. Most people from our compilation are probably spontaneous. But sometimes, even if you are careful with choosing your tattoos, you still might get a controversial one like the guy in the last picture.Bright Side came across several tattoos that made our eyebrows go up.“The sketch I made for my tattoo vs What I ended up with”
Treble clef tattoo
Her tattoo says “fresh spring rolls” in Thai.
“My wife and I had matching tattoos planned. I went first, hers was scheduled for a week after that. That was 4 days ago, 2 days ago we decided to get a divorce due to obviously unforeseen unfortunate circumstances. I’m an idiot.”
“My friend got a tattoo.”
And where are the legs?
“My friend bought a tattoo gun on amazon for £100. Tattooed Darth Vader on himself.”
“A friend of mine got a tattoo of some flowers, looks… Great!”
“So my buddy’s step-sister got a tattoo of her mother…”
“My awesome Star Wars tattoo”
“A buddy of mine has a friend who gave himself this in the 8th grade.”
“Okay, there may be a typo here…”
What’s up with these poor animals?
Well, this word is not easy to spell, so…
A guy got the same tattoo as the dog he got. It turned out that the tattoo means that the dog was neutered.
Later, the man said that he knew what the tattoo meant. He just wanted to do something for his dog to reinforce their connection. “My dog is always with me now.” We probably wouldn’t have done the same.
Have you ever gotten a bad tattoo that you regret? Tell us about it in the comment section below!
I Came Home from Vacation to Find a Huge Hole Dug in My Backyard – I Wanted to Call the Cops until I Saw What Was at the Bottom
When I cut short our vacation due to Karen falling ill, the last thing I expected was to find a massive hole in our backyard upon returning home. Initially alarmed, I hesitated when I spotted a shovel inside, leading me into an unexpected adventure involving buried treasure, newfound friendship, and lessons in life’s true values.
Karen and I rushed back from the beach early after she fell ill. Exhausted but wary, I decided to check the house’s perimeter before settling in. That’s when I stumbled upon the gaping pit in our lawn.
“What’s this?” I muttered, approaching cautiously.
At the bottom, amid scattered debris, lay a shovel. My first instinct was to call the police, but then I considered the possibility that the digger might return, knowing we were supposed to be away.
Turning to Karen, who looked unwell, I suggested keeping the car hidden in the garage to maintain the appearance of absence.
As night descended, I kept vigil by a window, watching and waiting. Just as I was about to give up, I spotted a shadow vaulting over our fence.
Heart pounding, I ventured out with my phone ready to call the authorities. Approaching the pit, I heard the clink of metal on earth.
“Hey!” I exclaimed, shining my phone’s light into the hole. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The figure looked up, squinting. My jaw dropped—it was George, the previous owner of our house.
“Frank?” he stammered, equally surprised. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here, remember?” I retorted. “What are you doing in my yard in the middle of the night?”
George climbed out, looking sheepish. “I can explain. Just… please don’t involve the police.”
Arms folded, I demanded an explanation.
“My grandfather owned this place,” George began, “and I recently discovered he hid something valuable here. I thought I’d dig it up while you were away.”
“You broke into my yard to hunt for treasure?” I couldn’t believe it.
“I know how it sounds,” George pleaded, “but it’s true. Help me dig, and we’ll split whatever we find.”
Despite my better judgment, I agreed. Over hours of digging, we shared stories, George revealing his hardships—a lost job and his wife’s illness. His hope for this treasure to change their lives touched me.
As dawn approached, our optimism dwindled with each shovel of dirt revealing nothing but rocks and roots.
“I was so sure…” George’s disappointment was palpable.
Offering a ride home, we filled the pit and drove to his house, where his wife, Margaret, greeted us anxiously.
“George! Where have you been?” Margaret exclaimed, eyeing me curiously.
Explaining the situation, George’s dream of buried treasure was deflated by Margaret’s reality check.
“My grandfather’s tales were just that—stories,” she gently reminded him.
Apologizing, George and Margaret offered to repair our yard. I declined, suggesting they join us for dinner instead.
Driving home, I shared the night’s escapade with Karen, who teased me about my unusual night with a stranger. Reflecting on our conversation, I proposed inviting George and Margaret for dinner—an unexpected outcome from a night of digging for imaginary treasure.
As I assessed the yard in daylight, I realized life’s treasures aren’t always what we seek but the connections we forge along the way.
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