Black ink tattoo of a smiling stick figure running, with the word 'RUNNING' above and 'SUCKS' below, on a area of skin.

Stick figure runner with 'Running sucks' text

Other · Black and grey · Photo

A black ink tattoo of a smiling stick figure mid-stride, with a motion mark behind its leg and a horizontal ground line beneath its feet. The word 'RUNNING' sits above the figure and 'SUCKS' below, both in a blackletter-style lettering with bold, even linework. The image is a close, straight-on photograph in flat light, with a little redness around the tattoo on the skin.

Other Stick figure Smiley face Text Lettering

Find an artist for this

Take it to an artist as a reference. A good artist will make it yours rather than copy someone else's tattoo.

A story inspired by this tattoo · fiction

Sit down, sit down, and mind the wasps, they've been at the Discovery windfalls since dinner. You'll want the cider for this one, because my Uncle Alfred never once ran anywhere he could walk, and he said so every Sunday until the day he died. That was the summer of the Bramley Dash, when Mr Pargeter at the Fold decided the village needed a race, and put up a crate of Russets and a pig's head for the winner, which nobody wanted but everybody fought over.

Keep reading

Alfred was twenty-two and wouldn't be told. He stood at the orchard gate in his Sunday boots, grinning like a fox at the henhouse, while the lads stretched their calves against the apple trunks. The whistle went. Off they tore between the rows, dust flying and elbows going, and Alfred, who had been promised the pig's head by his own mother, set off up the middle of the field with the face of a man who had just remembered something funny.

He got as far as the second row. Then the ground dropped, a mole had been at it, and he went down like a sack of meal. He lay in the clover laughing so hard the lads thought he'd broken his neck. When they reached him he was still smiling. "Running sucks, boys, you were all mad to start," he told them, and he made them carry him home on a hurdle and drink his share of the cider. Mr Pargeter gave the pig's head to a dog. And Alfred had that little man inked the following spring, legs stretched mid-stride, grinning, going nowhere at all.