A long time ago, I decided that if I were ever to get a tattoo, I would get a tattoo of an irregular black splotch.
“Say,” people would ask, indicating my tattoo, “what does that represent?”
“What do you mean, what does it represent?”
“You know, what’s it for, what does it symbolize?”
“This? It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Why’d you get a tattoo of a meaningless black splotch, then?”
“Oh, this isn’t a tattoo. It’s cancer.”