The Mock Dock

Apologies to those of you out there who have tattoos, but I do not like them. If you have one, and you like it, that is fantastic for you. But I do not like them. And because of how much I dislike them, this video totally cracks me up.

I love how the tattoo-giving guy is finally so fed up with her that he is like, “Sit down and shut up already.” You know you’re a loser when you get yelled at by a tattoo-giving guy.

Can you identify a single tattoo on this dude?  It looks like he took Mini-Mock’s artwork to a tattoo parlor and said, “Make me look exactly like this.”  He just looks scribbled on.

I realize that’s the least of this guy’s issues.  But still.

An alert and astute mockdocker sent me this photo of what is quite possibly one of the most disgusting tattoos of all time.

I think there oughta be some sort of law which prohibits you from having a tattoo that you can comb.

An alert and astute mockdocker sent me this photo, and I am just so incredibly grateful that this isn’t a shot from behind.  It probably looks really really painful at that angle.

Seriously is this not the DUMBEST bikini you have ever seen?  How do you even go about applying such a bathing suit?

And check out the crazy tattoo on the back of that other dude.  It’s like a toddler was allowed to tattoo him.

Do you realize that some unfortunate tattoo artist had to hang out in this guy’s armpits for a whole bunch of time to do this?  Eeew.  Hazards of the profession, I suppose.

I’m heading over to Grandma and Grandpa Mock’s house in a bit to pick up Mini-Mock (I was totally kidless last night!) and we’re going to play in his kiddie pool this afternoon.  I love Mini-Mock’s kiddie pool.  Probably more than he does, in fact.  As you know, this whole week has been spent without Junior Mock, save for a few evening visits, and I AM actually very well rested finally.  Well, except for Thursday night, when I was still reeling from kissing governors and unable to turn my mind off.  YAY!

Anyway, Junior Mock is spending one more night away, and then Sunday night he’s back!  Yesterday, his hospital bed was finally delivered. It’s ugly, and hospitally, but it’s like one of those craftomatic beds where the feet or head can be raised up in various degrees, and I’m HOPING that maybe he’ll sleep better in it than he does in just a regular twin bed.  So we’ll see.  But I could be grouchy Monday morning, you guys.  I’m just warning you now.

Trampstamps are already unforgiveable enough, but to add insult to injury, Julia Roberts trampstamped her KIDS’ NAMES onto her backside.

WHY WHY WHY would you do that?  Why?  I mean, there is no conceivable way that this does NOT result in a totally awkward conversation at some point in those kids’ lives. 

Friend of Julia’s Kid:  “Is that your NAME right above your mom’s ass?”

Julia’s Kid:  “Umm….yeah.”

Friend of Julia’s Kid:  “Wow.”

Julia’s Kid:  “I know.”

Friend of Julia’s Kid: (runs to alert the entire school)

Julia’s Kid:  (cries and wants to die of embarassment)

See? This can’t ever end well.

I mean, you can’t help but look at it.  It’s so OUT there.  So in your face.

Anyone have a translation for that tattoo?

I mean, she obviously meant well, right?  It’s sweet, really.  Tasteless but sweet.  What’s a little disturbing is that it appears there are commas after the mom and dad.  Almost as if to suggest that if you scrolled down (shudder) there would be an even longer and/or more profound parental tribute.  Yikes! 

So Daisy, Leroy and I are back from Saks, and I’m pleased to report that we were not kicked out of the store.  However, those evil Saks women were hovering around us, eyeing us suspiciously pretty much the entire time we were there.  They are IMPOSSIBLE, those Saks women.  I think the first day of training for Saks employees consists of the teaching of two core tenets:

1.  You are better than every customer.
2.  Every customer is there to steal and/or harm the merchandise and it is your job, nay, your DUTY to protect it by incessantly hovering and glaring at them.

Because that is how they act.  Despite their best efforts to watch us every second though, we managed to take not one but TWO photographs of their merchandise.  Daisy in a pair of Chanel sunglasses, and me in a pair of other designer glasses.  I have no idea what kind they were, but they were hot pink, covered practically my entire face, and were $400.  So stupid.  The three of us collectively decided we will never step foot in Saks again, because of how snooty they are. 

Happily, and as expected, Cheesecake Factory was DELISH.

Next stop – BCBG.  Another super expensive store but with super nice sales people.  In this store, we came upon THE most ridiculous dress.  Leroy pulled it off the rack, and said, “Behold.  Look at this dress.”  And I turned and said, “I do not see a dress.  I see a sleeve.”  But indeed, it WAS an actual dress.  The only way I could fathom someone fitting into this dress is if they were 8.  And I’m not talking about a SIZE 8, people.  I’m talking about 8 as in years old.   Leroy is probably a size 6 or 8 TOPS, and look at this dress, you guys.  We are STRETCHING it in this picture.

And horizontal stripes, no less.  Gawd.

We got this letter in our “tips” box today, from some adorable person who said that she wanted to be alert and astute and immediately thought of the Mock Dock as soon as she saw this photo.  It makes my heart happy to know that someone out there actually had a yearning to be labled as alert and astute by the Mock Dock.  Seriously – how precious is that?

Anyway, this photo makes me giggle so much.  Not just because some girl actually likes Rachael Ray enough to get a huge tattoo of her on their back, but because LOOK AT THE SIZE OF HER SHOULDER.  Generally, a tank top or spaghetti strap or bra strap sits in the middle of your shoulder.  So even though this photo is cropped, imagine if you will, how much wider the shoulder is than what you see here.  She could be the broadest woman on the planet.

Now, one of you photoshop experts is probably going to say, “That’s not a real tattoo. That’s photoshopped.”  I DON’T CARE, because she’s STILL the broadest woman on the planet.   You know who would totally love her?  That creepy serial killer from Silence of the Lambs.  Just imagine the skin-dress he could make out of her.  It’d be EPIC.

Guess what!  Paris Hilton’s boyfriend, that bald dude who’s the brother of Nicole Richie’s husband but whose name I can’t be bothered to remember or look up even though I just linked to it, won’t let her get a tattoo.  And guess why!!

Because he thinks she looks pure.

Apparently, said boyfriend is planning to get a tattoo of Paris somewhere on his person, on a bodypart which isn’t already covered in ink, but won’t let her get one.  She explains;

“He is going to get one of me but he won’t let me get one. He doesn’t like tattoos on women. He thinks I look pure.”

It’s really so coincidental, because it just so happens that “pure” is the very first word that I think of when I hear “Paris Hilton” too!!! You too, right?  Or at least, it’s in your top three, the other two possibilities being “chaste” and “virgin.”

Clearly said boyfriend hasn’t had the privilege of watching Paris’ sex tape, in which she is as opposite from pure as one can possibly be.

Side note:  Have you guys seen that sex tape?  It is TERRIBLE.  There is a scene, and I’m not making this up, where that lowlife who made the tape performs favors of a sexual nature on Paris, and she literally just lies there, bored to tears, for probably 45 minutes straight.  Like – her boredom was so obvious that it would not have been a surprise if she had whipped out a nail file, or a magazine, or a Sudoku puzzle to help pass the time.  So I’ve heard, I mean.   From other people who are not me who have seen the tape.

Anyway, I just found the whole purity thing hilarious.