When reached for comment, Zack Morris stood up from the thick leather chair in his study, walked over to the bar, poured himself a glass of Mendis, donned his silk burgundy robe, sat back down, took a sip of the brandy, summoned his hairless cat, Sir Otis von Trippenwind III, petted him gently on the head, shooed him away, picked the phone back up, and, after a deep breath, quietly forced out a throaty “… good,” and hung up promptly.

(Tattoo by Greg Davenport at Jester’s Court Tattoos in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania.)