I recently interviewed Stephen Jackson for an article for International Knitting. After speaking ad nauseum about courses, wales, and the advantages of double pointed knitting needles; we moved onto basketball and his life.
As standard practice, I demand that all interviews are done in the nude. I noticed that on Mr. Jackson’s chest there was a strange tattoo of praying hands holding a gun in front of some sort of church window. When I asked about, the shy and reserved Jackson smiled.
“As you know, I’m a very devout Mormon,” said Jackson. “I preach the gospel wherever I go to whom ever will listen. Speaking of which, have read the book of Mormon?”
I told him about my lengthy studies in Provo when I was a member of the Mormon exchange program with the church of Scientology, which I am currently in good financial standing with (hail Xenu!).
Since he knew I could relate, he told me of one evening that changed his life. He was in Indianapolis spreading the word of Joseph Smith, riding his bike with his tie and short sleeved dress shirt on with ex-teammates and fellow Mormons Jamaal Tinsley, Marquis Daniels and Jimmie Hunter when some local ruffians stopped them outside of strip club.
“They wanted to speak to us, I thought this might be a good time to teach others about the sins of the flesh. After I asked them if they had heard of Jesus Christ’s other travels, one of them punched me. Hard. I was in a state of shock. It was like something I had never felt before like a woman’s vagina. Having never been in a fight before, I didn’t know what to do so I did what comes natural”
“I fell to my knees and prayed that he wouldn’t hurt me when this large fellow put this gun into hands. I looked at it, it was strange he would do so. Suddenly, a car drove up and hit me. I was scared and I fired the gun into the air. My goodness the sounds were so loud! Everyone backed away, saving myself and my fine Mormon friends Jamaal, Marquis and Jimmie.”
“It was as if God answered my prayers right there, giving me a way to save our lives,” said Jackson.
Jackson immediately thanked the Lord and decided that he must celebrate the event with a tattoo; something that he had always wanted to try before.
“I’ve heard of tattoos, but I wasn’t sure how they worked. I thought it was something you put on with water and tape, but it involved needles. No one told me that! Man did it hurt, I cried the entire time,” said Jackson.
I asked him if it would be okay if I examining his tattoo at close range, which he agreed. I rested my head on his navel and took a big long stare at it. I realized that I hated his tattoo.
I think its great that he had such a touching moment in his life and all but look at the tattoo. The hands don’t even look very real! The gun wasn’t nearly as big as he described! The church window doesn’t have any detail! If you’re really close, you can see little spots where it wasn’t filled properly.
Clearly, the artist who did the tattoo wasn’t a professional like that Kat Von D person I see on the television. She’s the Kat’s pajamas.
That’s why Stephen Jackson’s tattoo is the worst in sports.
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