The only thing gayer than inking John Elway’s face inches from his nads would be tattooing a giant, erect prick up his leg. Preferably black.
The display of male superstars’ names in the form of tattoos or jerseys is something that has always perplexed me. As a man, it makes no sense to advertise a much higher status man on your body like a billboard. It screams beta, if not omega. And yet, go to any sports event and you’ll see lots of jock-y meatheads, tough guys and douchebags doing just that. Don’t they realize how lame it looks to women, to boost the competition? The only explanation is that the dudes who do this have no clue how women think.
I suppose there is some evolutionary-based reason for it. Perhaps in the EEA, associating yourself with an alpha male would increase the chance that he would drop some of his sloppy seconds in your lap. But that is not the case today. Sucking the titular cocks of sports stars or rock stars is nothing short of slavish worship, and worshipping another man is the hallmark of the beta mentality.
Wearing the jersey — let alone tattooing his mug on your leg — of some millionaire athlete with a harem of hotties you could only dream of banging is analogous to the cuckold fetishist who sits in a corner feebly stroking it with a pair of tweezers while some grossly overhung studhorse jackhammers his wife into multiple Os. Think about that the next time you’re tempted to feel pride wearing Jeter’s shirt over your manboobs. You may as well be tucking your junk and licking his balls to a polished shine.