Welcome to The Red Pill and MGTOW.
I made it through 8 years of the army, which include some of the drunkest helldog bar crawls of my life, and I have no tattoos.
Not sure how, but when I was 9, standing in a checkout line at Publix, I poked my mom and said “Hey, that lady has a tattoo” . My mother slapped the shit out of me, apologized to the lady and promised to explain on the way home.
It was a Holocaust survivor with her camp number tattooed on the inside of her arm. Tattoos are things other people do to you to mark you. No thanks.