Gee, Kayne,
Once, on a writing assignment, I rode with a motorcycle gang (this is in the USA) from Massachusetts to Connecticut. It was a funeral run, in honor of the memory of a gang member who'd been spread over about a half-mile of highway. (May his road paste rest in peace.)
The gang was named "The Outlaws," sort of an east coast version of the Hells Angels.
Anyway, I rode on a Harley (motorcycle) behind one of the leaders, a guy called "Fly." Tears in my eyes and regrets in my heart, I clung to Fly when we went around corners at about 120 miles per hour -- on the wrong side of the highway.
If you could have peeled me off of his back, you could have read his T-shirt, which said something like this: "If you can read this, means the bitch fell off."
My photographer, unfortunately, drew an even more reckless rider to ride behind. I think he is still in a catatonic state.
Eventually, my editor got me and the catatonic photographer out of jail. I won an award for my subsequent story.
(You think I'm gonna share any credit with the editor? Read my comments on Tarotbear. The writer always gets the credit.)
Anyway, to get to the point, "Fly" was called Fly 'cause he had the most realistic tattoo of a fly on his nose you could ever imagine. Just lookin' at him made you want to swat him in the face with a fly swatter. 'Cept he'd probably rip you into small pieces and eat you.
Anyway, gets my vote as the best tattoo I've ever seen.
Talisman