Posts Tagged ‘fashion’

Sometimes I will be somewhere and feel completely out of place. In these situations it would be helpful if I had a t-shirt explaining why I am where I am. I hope you know what I mean though. There is not always the chance to explain to a person why you look so out of place with words. Words on a t-shirt can do the explaining for you. I have decided to create my own t-shirt slogans that I can wear when I go certain places that express completely my feelings and why I am there. Hopefully you can relate to a few and buy them off of me. I guess some aren’t even for me as much as they are for you. I’m so nice.

“I’m not creepy. I just didn’t have anyone else to go to this event with.” – this shirt is to be worn whenever you go somewhere and cannot find anyone to go with you

“Yes, I will probably have sex with you. Smile at me and if I smile back it’s a definitely yes.” – this shirt is to be worn at all times

“Believe it or not I have higher aspirations that what you see me doing right now. In my spare time I work hard to achieve my dreams, but haven’t quite gotten there yet so I’m stuck here.” – this shirt is to be worn while at work

“Please leave me alone. I am a woman and there is a reason I am not making eye contact with you. I left the house to be alone.” – this shirt is to be worn by females whenever they please

“I am going to talk to anyone who acknowledges my existence.” – this shirt is to be worn by socially awkward creepy men who bother everyone

“I’m pussy-whipped.” – this shirt is to be worn by any guy who goes to a club with his girlfriend

“I like sluts.” – this shirt is to be worn by any guy who goes to a club to pick up a girl

“There is nothing wrong with me. The friends you see me with just happen to be in long-term committed relationships, most of them trapped into them for fear of being alone otherwise and I don’t blame them because they are crappy people and I am only still friends with them because I feel obligated to after all of the memories we have shared together.” – this shirt is to be worn when you are a third, fifth, etc. wheel

“I haven’t had time to do laundry because I have a social phobia about going to the Laundromat.” – this shirt is to be worn when you find people laughing at how smelly you are

“If you are attractive feel free to talk to me. If you are unattractive do not talk to me. If you are attractive and I ask you a question, continue the conversation. If you are unattractive and I ask you a question, I only want to know the answer.” – this shirt is to be worn by women while traveling

“I acknowledge we live near each other, but that doesn’t mean I have to like you.” – this shirt is to be worn around neighbors at all times

“Of course I’m not happy. I’m an American.” – this shirt is to be worn while at and on the way to your therapist’s office

“My parents weren’t as good as they could have been, my friends don’t understand me, and I feel very unloved and alone in the world.” – this is actually not a t-shirt but a tattoo I suggest most people get

“It’s my fault, but I don’t care.” – this shirt is to be worn whenever you make a mistake, whether you did it on purpose or not

“I do want to help you. At the same time, I want to do it quickly, exactly the way you told me it would happen, and I fully expect you to do the same for me somewhere down the line.” – this shirt is to be worn whenever a favor is asked of you

“Fuck you.” – this shirt is to be worn whenever you are near someone who is giving you their opinion on a topic

“If I wanted hash browns I would have asked for hash browns. And please, don’t mumble your words when asking me if I want any. I’m going to naturally say no to mumblers.” – this shirt is to be worn by me exclusively every time I go to Dunkin Donuts

Any other ideas?

Fish do not wear hats. Why is this? My theory is fish do not know what hats are. They never walk by a Lids store in the mall and think “How does that place stay open?” I think fish should wear hats. It would be cute. A little top hat on a flounder might make me reconsider how delicious they are. Most fish also probably do not wear hats because they have no hair. Imagine that. Being completely hairless. What fish lack in hair they make up for in being slimy. Weird thing is several hairless people I have met could have the same said about them. Continue on for more about hats.

I’m not sure when the hat was invented. I like to think it was sometime more recent. The Flinstones never wore hats so they’re not all that old. American Patriots wore hats. So sometimes between the time when pelicans were used for mixing cement and British women put fake moles on their faces, hats were created. I think the main purpose of a hat is to keep your head warm. You never see an Eskimo wearing a hat much though. Probably because they don’t have any sports teams of note anywhere nearby. Are you going to be like Glenn on The Walking Dead and wear a plain white hat with no design?

(Maybe the plain whiteness could be used by the Eskimo to designate snow. Those nose rubbers love snow)

When I was younger I had a hat collection. The probably with a hat collection is nobody cares about it. You can’t bring in a lot of hats on show-and-tell. You look like you’re holding the remnants from a terrible bus accident which was filled with bald men, gangsters, and women from the Red Hat Society. I had these hangers I could use to display the hats openly for my zero friends who ever came over to visit. I hate two hats from the Anaheim Mighty Ducks. Once a girl with a funny name asked me if I liked the team or the movie. I told her I liked the movie. Then she said Darth Vader was from Star Trek. Suddenly I felt less ridiculous for owning two hats from the same movie.

I wear a hat most days to work. It’s an Opie & Anthony cap I got years ago. The hat is pretty beat up at this point. I continue to wear it anyway. For several reasons. The first being I want to be known as “the guy in the hat” and not something worse. You see, I nickname everyone I meet. I did not want to risk getting a negative adjective attached to myself by the cruel people I encounter in my daily life. Always wearing a hat made it an easy distinguishing feature. I’m also very superstitious. Since I got the hat I have not died. My third reason for wearing the hat is I wore it every day so often that I felt naked without it. My sense of balance was off. Tossing a hat upon my head not only helped to keep me from falling over, it allowed me to avoid combing my hair or worrying about any top-of-forehead-zits.

(An actual silhouette of me not wearing a hat and falling. Yes, my right hand has 3 fingers and a talon)

It’s the other people’s hat wearing habits which bug me. I wear hats of things I enjoy. Sports teams, entertainment references, crude sayings have all been on my hats. Let’s say there is this guy I have declared my mortal enemy. He has done nothing wrong other than wear hats of 3 different sports teams. I mentioned him briefly in another post. Back when all he had worn was a Colorado Rockies hat. Now he has worn a Toronto Blue Jays and a New York Yankees one. His first name starts with an M so it’s not like he’s trying to be a rapper. There isn’t an M hidden anywhere in those team names. Does he just like the colors? Is he an idiot? No. I’m the idiot. An idiot for not removing his hat for him.

One time a hat saved my life. In 6th grade we had a class called SFA. I forget what it stood for. All I remember was Joey “Lollipop” Ryan claiming his dog had a valid reaction to a note he wrote her. This day in class we were supposed to share a very special item in our lives. I remember one fat bully saying “I just wore my football jersey” and it was special because his mom wouldn’t let him play football. The teacher could tell he forgot his very special item. She turned to me. It was my turn. I too like this football jersey wearing asshole (seriously, he’s in the top 5 worst human beings I have ever met) forgot my special item. Lucky for me, I was a hat wearer. I yanked out my Tampa Bay Devil Rays hat. I told the story how I got the hat when I was down in Florida on vacation. The teacher smiled. I had pleased her hunger for special items. I probably shouldn’t have said the hat saved my life, but it helped me out. Back then grades were everything. I probably would have killed myself if I got a zero for the day in a useless class meant to raise self-esteem.

I could go on forever about hats. There are so many types. The chef hat, Cat in the Hat hat, ones with propellers, visors, square paper ones, and so on. You know the types. Any polyester that can be placed on your head could be considered a hat. They’re multipurpose and come in so many colors and designs. They function like shirts but for our heads. I would never want to live in a world without hats. They let people know we’re hungover and it’s almost always a good way to spot a bisexual chick.

(The Man in the Yellow Hat is not a woman. Therefore he is not bisexual. Sex with young curious monkeys are the only way he swings)

“Despite all my rage I am still just a hat in a cage.” – Bullet with Butterfly Wings, Billy “Cueball” Corgan

Think of your favorite cartoon character. Are you thinking of it? Does this character wear clothes? No? You’re a pervert. If you answered yes, continue on. What kind of clothes does this cartoon character wear? I mean each episode. Because a normal human being would change their clothing. But not a cartoon character. They wear the same damn clothes every damn day. Except sometimes during flashbacks or special occasions. Like that Flinstones episode where Fred had to attend Pebbles’ funeral. That was a real downer but we got to see Fred in a suit. This observation and obsession of mine has made me more aware of the clothing that actual life action humans wear. Freaky thing about this is that sometimes there are real people who dress like cartoons. People who always seem to wear the same thing every day.

(He sure seems chipper to be at his daughter’s funeral. Must have wanted a boy)

The only joke I’ve ever seen in a cartoon about this was on an episode of Doug. Doug, who always wore a green vest with a white shirt underneath, opened up his closet to reveal an entire rack full of the same outfit. In real life, few people own multiple versions of the same outfit. Or do they? I haven’t been in too many closets. That’s where monsters and homosexuals hide. My closet is full of mostly black shirts, but they’re all different. That’s more than certain people can say. People who I would like to ridicule for having inconsistent cycles of clothing wear.

I worry about stupid things. One of my big worries is that someone will notice that I’ve worn the same shirt in the same week. Luckily I don’t have enough quarters to do laundry that consistently. Phew! I also perfected the strategy of throwing on a button up shirt or sweatshirt so that nobody will see that I’m wearing the same thing as yesterday. I don’t do this often, but sometimes I do. You know, for good luck and such. If a rabbit’s foot, a horse shoe, or a coin can be lucky, surely my body odor can be too.

(Clearly the smelly men in this picture are the lucky ones. All that medical school to do this for a living)

To me, the unwritten rule of wearing clothes is don’t get caught looking dirty. Women own so many clothes that if I notice you wear the same thing a lot you’re doing something wrong. Men get a little more leniency. Don’t tell me this is a double-standard. I hate that excuse. Complaining that something is a double-standard is your way of admitting you think what you’re doing is wrong. If it didn’t bother you so much you wouldn’t be trying to justify it. So be comfortable with what a horrible person you are already.

(“If I killed only the French nobody would have minded. Such a double standard” – Charlie Chaplin lookalike winner 1938)

Pants vary from shirts with these laws. I think you can wear pants more often than you can wear a shirt. Why? Well a shirt will touch your gross disgusting body more. At least pants have your underwear to protect your fabric a bit. But the problem with pants is that you need to make sure they’re not a loud pair that you wear more than one day in a row. I know this guy, we’ll call him Sniffy because he always seems to move around a lot like a dog sniffing. He really irks me. I want to smack his nose and tell him to stop moving around. He’s way too young to give the Parkinson’s excuse. And he has neat girlish handwriting so he’s just being a nuisance to me.

(Knock it off! Find a place to shit and be done with it you grape colored dog)

Sniffy wore the same loud obnoxious cranberry colored pants three days in a row. They were the color of red velvet cake. I know I shouldn’t associate another man’s lower half with a delicious dessert, but that’s what it made me think of. What kind of man buys cranberry jeans? It’s the same shade as the rope at the movie theater and probably felt as soft. I don’t know. I’m not about to ask to rub his knees to find out. He has another pair whose color reminds me of a mermaid’s fin. They’re a very soft solid blue. My reasoning for noticing his pants so much is that I have bad eyesight and see colors stronger than anything else. I will also claim that I sit low in my chair and my eyes are around crotch level. Making eye contact is a strain on my neck. I have to keep it level. It’s not like I know the fly on each of these pants is silver-colored–

I’ve known two other people who always wore the same sweatshirt. Every day. All times of the year. The same exact outfit. Both these guys were pretty weird in general so I guess that wasn’t a concern of theirs. Even if it’s not the same shirt, you need some sort of rotation. I once kept track of a friend’s shirts and how often he would wear them. It took only about a month before I realized a pattern. Certain shirts were worn early in the week while others were purely bought for weekend purposes. He probably secretly called them his party shirts. I know I would. Super Mario fist pumping is the definition of a party.

(This should screams “I don’t live with my mother, she lives with me”)

What is your strategy to make sure you don’t wear the same thing every time you see a certain person? Please note that wearing something you don’t like that your grandmother gave you every time you see her doesn’t count. That’s not gross. That’s trying to make an old hag smile at her awful gift idea.

I’m sitting here wondering about a world before pants. Actually I’m lying. I’m sitting here looking around the room for something to write about. I’m wearing pants for once which means that must be a sign I should write about them. The pants I’m wearing right now are pajama pants. They’re camouflage. I look like I belong in the Cuddly Marines because my pants are so incredibly soft.

(A POW of the Cuddly Marines. I don’t know this kid. It’s creepy that I’m posting his picture)

Pants have been around for a long time despite not being around at the beginning of time. Jesus never wore pants. He wore a gown. At least, that’s what it looks like to me. Julius Caesar never wore pants either. He was killed by his best friend, Brutus. If my best friend killed me I would not be surprised. I would not say “And you too?” I would say “I knew you were going to do this someday, bastard.” The earliest person I can remember ever seeing depicted in pants is Christopher Columbus. Using this logic, pants were invented in 1492. Let’s stick with that.

(I really hope he’s wearing pants or else he’s clearly playing with himself)

The purpose of pants is to cover up your private parts. And to cover up the knees of people with knobs for knees. Before pants we used fig leaves to cover our private parts. Then Isaac Newton came around and turned the fig into a delicious cookie, The Fig Newton. A couple of bullies called it The Fag Newton because bullies don’t like cookies without a chocolaty flavor. It’s true. Think about everyone who has ever picked on you. Did they or did they not have a chocolate stain on their lips? After the fig leaf went out of style we decided to wear furs over our crotches. We had developed the ancient art of killing an animal to cover our shame. That’s kind of silly. If someone did that today, killed an animal only to wear their skin, we’d be outraged by them. Survival used to depend on it. If you didn’t have the most trendy of raccoon skins for underpants you’d be made fun of then killed. The ancient world was a cruel place.

People eventually learned how to sew which led to the toga. The toga was used primarily because it could cover the entire body. The citizens of those ancient times were lazy and did not care to put on a shirt and pants separately. Oh, they had the technology to build pants. Believe me. They were just too lazy to do it. The Romans had bath houses to hang out in. It wasn’t even a gay thing. Can you imagine that? Hanging out with your buddies in a bath and it not be a gay thing? I can’t even sit next to a friend at the movie theater without feeling slightly homosexual.

(Speaking of slightly homosexual)

The night-gown, worn by Jesus and all of his disciples, was pretty popular for quite a long time. I’m not really sure what happened in history from the year 0 until 1492. It’s all kind of a blur. That was such a gigantic chunk of human history yet we seem to know less about that time period than any other. I think there might have been a few Crusades. The Crusades, where a bunch of white people invaded a country of olive-skinned people claiming that their god was a white guy who grew up in a land of only olive-skinned people. Okay–no wonder they had to make up King Arthur to get others behind that story.

(Common battle garb for a man in the times of Jesus)

Christopher Columbus somehow got his greedy hands on a pair of pants. The pants he wore were silly pants. They were tight and the kind of pants that a clown might wear. His discovery of a new land would eventually lead to the murder of a bunch of non-pants wearing people called the Native Americans. I guess back then they weren’t called Native Americans. They were called “in-my-ways.” That’s exactly what they were. In the way of pilgrims. Their presence alone was a nuisance. Native Americans used to actually live in gigantic beautiful mansions. They felt bad about taking up so much land and decided to conserve space by living in teepees. A small triangular home that was only big enough to shit in. They could no longer hang fancy paintings on their walls. They had to resort to hanging scalps which were much smaller. In today’s world, Native Americans do wear pants. Usually these pants are filled with poker chips. We killed their ancestors and gave them casinos. The world is a bloody mess where money fixes everything.

Were are we in history? We’re in like 1776 or so. People are still wearing silly Christopher Columbus pants. Benjamin Franklin, Thomas Jefferson, George Washington, and other racists all wearing the same type of tight-fitting girly clown pants. Then the Declaration of Independence is signed. The United States is free from England, a country that thrives on not wearing real pants. We fight a couple of wars, enslave a couple of races, and before you know it blue jeans are around. I saw the film Gettysburg or at least part of it. It takes place in the 1860s in Pennsylvania. I actually almost got a hand job at Gettysburg, but that’s another story for another day with no real ending. The soldiers for the Union wore blue. This, my friends, the invention of blue jeans. It came out of hate, war, racial suppression, but I think it was all worth it. I would give my life so my children could live in a world with blue jeans. They’re so form-fitting that it’s worth death to have.

(Brett Favre killed 19 men to get ahold of these real comfortable jeans. He only showed 2 of them a picture of his penis)

Today, in the year 2015( don’t want this to be time sensitive) there are lots of types of pants. There’s the aforementioned blue jeans, there are khakis, there are cargo pants, douche bags wear dockers, there are pants that are impossible to stain, pants of every color you could imagine, pants that if you were thrown from a plane would act as a parachute, pants that have the bottoms cut off, pants with the backs cut out, the types of pants that exist are endless. Dogs also pant when they’re hot. This is one of those cases where why don’t they call a dog panting something else. Call it a dog breathing heavily. Or if you need its own word call it Supplenating. I made up a word that means nothing. Merriam Webster never did that. Too busy getting teased for having a girl’s name.

Recently I had my ears lowered. This wasn’t some serious plastic surgery that I had to endure, no. It’s slang for getting a haircut. Don’t feel silly if you didn’t know that. Only people born in the 1930’s and fans of the television show Doug have ever used it.

It had been over a year since my last haircut. I usually get one haircut a year. I try to synch it up with the same day I change my bed sheets every year. I don’t know why it is. Just one of those strange family traditions like wearing red on Christmas or killing your father when you turn 18.

My head has been very cold since removing a good half of my weight off my head. I probably should have done it earlier, like when it was hot out and I was always sweaty. Perhaps I’m going crazy. Is this the start of my EVOLUTION OF INSANITY!!! I own several hats so things haven’t been too bad. If my head gets too cold I could always rub it on the backs of strangers to warm it up. They’ll think I’m being cute like a kitten. Or weird like a psychopath.

I was in desperate need of a haircut. Even I’d admit that. But I don’t go to barber shops. No. Not since a woman with long forearm hairs gave me a buzz cut and asked me what kind of drugs I’ve experimented with. It felt like a poorly operated sting to bust a good boy who stays away from drugs. I remember my mom waiting in the car. I never asked her to do that. I think she was too embarrassed to be seen with me.

This haircut was different from the rest. This one was done by myself. Yep, all by my lonesome. Nobody helped. Not a single living human being. Well, I guess the makers of the razor helped. And Tmobile for providing a camera phone which helped me take pictures of the back of my head to make sure I didn’t miss a spot. I’m still not sure if I did miss a spot either. That’s something I’ll probably never know. Until a bully points it out to me by rudely tugging on it like Santa’s beard. I don’t know why a child would ever tug on a mall Santa’s beard. That still doesn’t mean that Santa isn’t real. Maybe Santa has a fake beard too. Or decided to shave. I shaved my head finally after a year. What’s to stop Santa from shaving his beard after 6,000 years? (That’s how old archeologists believe Santa to be, approximately)

I’m proud of myself for being able to cut my own hair. It’s liberating. I like to think of it almost as a passage into adulthood. I’m no longer restrained to paying $10 to some vocational school student to make me look handsome. I am my own handsome maker. I don’t need any of my old barbers anymore. Not the girl with the long forearm hair. Not the guy who tried to sell me raffle tickets for a bike despite me not knowing how to ride a bike. Not the guy whose first name was Scott or his last name was Wolf. I can’t remember which was true. I do remember thinking that he might have been actor Scott Wolf, down on his luck.

I’ve lost some appreciation now for barbers. Sure, hair stylists have some talent. They’re artists for hair. I appreciate good art. I appreciate good hair. That’s why I have no beef with hairstyles who can do more than shave a head. To my credit, my hair was so long that I had to randomly cut patches out of it before the shaving. More points for me. I am better than you barbers. You are no longer needed in my life. You too women named Barbara. You’re just as useless to me now. And just to finish off with people I have no use for now, people with the last name Barbera. I only know two, cartoonist Hanna and elementary school friend of mine Michael. I’m tired of Yogi Bear and I’m even more tired of memories of friends I haven’t spoken to since 1997. I wonder what he’s doing right now. Hopefully Googling himself and then reaching this site. That would be kind of creepy. Maybe a potential boss of yours is reading this right now. Here, how about I ruin the chance at the job.

3 Reasons Not to Hire Michael Barbera:

1) He had a dog named Baron. Do you know who else had something named Baron? The Nazis! They had the Red Baron, a dog fighting pilot. See how this all connects here?

2) He liked a girl because she could throw a good spiral with a football. That’s shallow and kind of weird. You don’t want someone like that working for you do you?

3) He once hid nunchucks in his father’s tool drawer and blamed it on his brother Chris. His mother yelled at him “Michael, don’t be fresh!” and he admitted his guilt. Do you want someone who doesn’t stand their ground working for your company? A man who admits to lies? Did not think so.

That’s what you get for not keeping in touch asshole.

They love the Cure, black fingernails, Wednesday Addams, and crows. They’re goth girls. Girls who have a darker side to them. They write poetry, listen to music when they’re sad, cut their arms to feel something, and have had a phase of wearing boy’s clothes. Goth girls are great.

I have always had an attraction to goth girls. There are many reasons for it. For one, they have low expectations of everything. They’re beaten down by the world already. They have THE SILENT SOUL!!! Normally I don’t like negative attitudes. Especially from women. It scares me. I think that if they can criticize a puppy’s face then they can certainly find something wrong with me.

(“Disgusting!” – Goth Girls)

When I say goth, I don’t necessarily mean what you think I do mean. I want to use the term a little more loosely, if that’s okay with you. Goth to me is anything with a dark edge. Fans of metal music are goth to me. You might be sitting there in your mom’s basement, in your Slipknot t-shirt, eating Doritos thinking that you’re not goth. You are. Emo kids are goth too. They wear big coats with large buttons, a surefire sign that you have a gothic edge to you. Emo kids never claim to not be goth. They don’t really care what you call them. Just don’t mistake emos boys for girls and emo girls for boys. It’s an easy mistake to make, but make sure you don’t do it.

With all that said, I think I should praise goth girls a bit. I love their variety of styles. Goth girls come in so many different varieties. Some have goofy colored hair. Some have so much makeup on that they look like ghosts. Then there are other ones who look normal then you see them wearing some silly contraption like a giant bracelet with spikes or a belt buckle shaped like a steak. Goth girls have great senses of humor. They really don’t care what you think about them. Well actually they probably do. But try getting one to admit it! You can’t. Their lips are sealed. Black lipstick must be made out of glue.

My favorite of the goth girls are the ones that shouldn’t be goth. The kind of girls that should be preppy and spit at me when I try to ask them to prom. Those are my favorite. The ones with a little pit of a punk rock edge to them. Think Avril Lavigne without a long face. Does she have a long face? I’m not sure. My memory says she does. She’s missing something. Like I wouldn’t tap that anyway. She’s famous! I’d do it with anyone famous. For the story and the chance to be involved in a big Hollywood murder. You never know these days.

(According to my calculations, Avril Lavigne has a face over 5 feet in length)

There’s only one goth girl that I have ever fallen in love with. She was a beautiful Spanish girl who asked me if I knew where she could get tickets to Lamb of God. I melt just thinking about it. I’m not a fan of Lamb of God or anything. But knowing that this adorable brown-skinned specimen finds it entertaining to listen to loud obnoxious music with no real lyrical theme to it makes my heart skip a beat. I didn’t know where she could get tickets and she left me forever. I asked her where she was from and she said the town of Wayne, New Jersey. Ahhh Wayne. A town with the most beautiful goth girls in the world. The name says it all.

(Wayne gives his approval for Goth Girls from the city of Wayne)

The goth looks is more popular than ever. There’s actually famous people who will dress up as such and are no longer made fun of like they would have been in the 90s. It’s okay to wear a t-shirt with a tie around your neck. Nobody thinks twice if you wear a sexy short skirt with steel skeletons on the edges. Goth is mainstream.

Thanks to Hot Topic being in every mall, Goths have a place to go and say “This place used to be cool.” I mean come one, they sell Justin Bieber shirts there. How punk can that be?

I still go into Hot Topics whenever I can in the hopes of meeting my future wife. Or maybe just a future girl to obsess over and fantasize about. I love goth girls. Everything about them. From their unique hair, to their tight leather clothing, to their negligent attitudes about life. I love it. Keep it up goth girls. I’m here to comfort you whenever you need me.

There’s a new song that I hear on the radio a lot. For those who don’t know, radio is television but no image. Blind people can enjoy it. They can enjoy television too. Deaf people can’t enjoy the radio at all though. Unless they get their kicks breaking electronic devices. Fuck. I used the magic word.

The song I’m referring to is Pumped Up Kicks by the band You’re Dumb if You Like This Song. I don’t like this song. Because of that, I now see how much I hate the word kicks. Everything about kicks. Because of that one lousy song with its robotic voices. I hate songs with robotic voices. Unless sung by an actual robot.

First off, the song refers to kicks, calling shoes by that name. I don’t know anybody who does that. I was on the subway recently and a college aged guy said to his friend “Are those new kicks?” The guy sat sideways, letting me know that he was tough. Tough guys always sit sideways. They walk sideways too. It’s what separates us tough guys from pussies like you. To ask his friend if they were new shoes was no more difficult than calling them kicks. In fact, shoes is just as many letters. It’s also easier on the tongue to say. More stress on the lips, but thanks to evolution, are lips are strong enough to handle “sh” words. I was in a city and this guy may have possibly been Jewish. They love their K’s and if this is the case, I cannot make fun. That’s racist to make fun of people who are different from you. Even if they are living up to a stereotype.

The verb of kick is the action of using your leg to punch someone. That’s what a kick basically is. A leg punch. Kicks are much less effective than punches. You’re off balance. Have you ever tried making a fist with your foot? According to the businessman in Die Hard, after getting off a plane you should make your toes into fists then walk around. So making your feet into fists is for people who are afraid of flying. Who is afraid of flying? Wimps! Not to mention, but I will, usually when you’re kicking someone, it means you’re already on the ground. Never go for a kick while you’re both standing. All your opponent needs to do is grab your leg, spin you around, then hit you in the back of the head with a flying dragon knee. Kicking is the last defense. It’s for losers. Real men get punches in. Have you ever heard of a famous kick boxer? Of course not. They’re guys who like poking other men in the shins with their toes. It’s a mean thing to do. Shins are terribly weak bones. That’s why even soccer players, the most masculine of athletes, have to wear guards on their shins.

That reminds me, soccer players kick a lot. Soccer is a KICKING SPORT!!! That’s all they do. Run and kick. Kick and run. Wear shorts and question your sexuality. At a certain age, you have to realize that soccer is a lousy sport. I know it’s big all over the rest of the world, but I can’t take a man in shorts seriously. Not as bad as cricket where they wear sweaters, but still pretty bad. Soccer players are another thing to hate about kicks. Especially that fact that there used to be an indoor soccer team called the KIXX in Philadelphia. What’s wrong, C’s and K’s too expensive? And then that reminds me of the cereal.

I haven’t eaten KIXX cereal in years. I’m not even sure if it still exists. It was always kind of plain. My sister liked it. She also liked cheeseburgers from McDonalds without the meat. Not the most reliable source for a food palette. I always thought the cereal was missing something. It wasn’t very sugary. The pieces were round and a soft fool’s gold color. Children’s cereal is never good unless marshmallows, chocolate, or another dangerously unnecessary item is placed inside. KIXX was also one of many cereals that when I would eat it, I would get acid reflux. Yes, as a boy Lucky Charms would make me throw up into my own throat. I don’t know what it was. Maybe the idea of eating horseshoes didn’t sit well with me.

Kicking must be cool sometimes. You can kickback and relax. But then nothing ever gets done. Damn. Kicks really do suck. I don’t even need a bad song to make me believe that. I’ve never had a good experience with a kick. It could have something to do with me having poor balance, but I don’t think I want kicks as a part of my life.

My advice to you. Do not call shoes kicks. That’s just stupid. It’s not hip. It suggests violence. You’re almost ordering the wearer of the shoes to kick someone. Do you know who that someone should be? It should be you. The person with the nerve to call shoes by their improper name, kicks. Maybe I should be kicked. I feel like I’ve used way too many commas in this post. 26 by my count. One for every letter in the alphabet. Two for every tooth in the mouth of people who overuse the word kick.

I usually wear underpants. Sometimes I don’t. I call those “slut nights.”

Most people complain about their socks disappearing. My socks disappear, yes, but my underwear seems to as well. I remember when I used to have two drawers of underwear. I was loaded. I often prayed for a market collapse and the United States Government to go back to the “Underpants Standard” which is what the currency was before people discovered how shiny gold was. I would have been a millionaire. Now, I’d be giving blow jobs just for a pair of panties.

I don’t know when the last time I got a new pair of underpants was. Probably two Christmases ago. It was a two-pack, one black and one blue camouflage. I don’t see why those should be sold together. Black is a solid. Camouflage is not. Maybe I’m an underwear diva, but it bothers me. They both fit similarly. A nice snug feeling against my thighs. I’d say they are my sexiest underwear except for my silk pair with dogs on it. I don’t wear the silk ones too often. They’re too slippery and always fall down as I walk. My new sexy pair are the blue camouflage. When I wear them in a blue room, it looks like I’m naked.

A lot of my underpants are sports themed. As I type this, I am wearing a pair of boxers with basketballs on them. I don’t know why I have these. I don’t like basketball. I’ve never watched a full basketball game on television and only ever saw one in person. It was a minor league team that folded half way through the year. I remember eating chicken fingers then looking at the crowd and realizing that I had more French Fries in my lap than the team had supporters. It was a little sad, but keep in mind that I did have a lot of fries. My least favorite thing about these basketball boxers is that the elastic on top bends. It’s all curly. I don’t notice when I wear it, but I know if I ever took off my pants in front of a girl or a doctor or a thief wanting my pants they would notice. Then I’ll feel self-conscious.

Among my basketball boxers, I have several with baseballs on them. I actually like baseball. I like it so much that I have pajama pants that match my baseball boxers. I even have one pair of baseball boxers that is the same as another pair. I used to have the pants to go with it, but they got too worn down so I angrily tossed them at a Goodwill worker. I have another pair of baseball boxers that I know I’ve had since at least high school. It has autographed baseballs on it from the 1934 All-Star team. I don’t know why the makers chose the 1934 All-Star team. Maybe Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Jimmie Foxx, Ty Cobb, and Dave “The Vaginal Fluid” Patterson were easy to names to artistically put onto boxer shorts. Okay, I know what you’re thinking and I admit it. Ty Cobb had already retired by 1934. Sue me for making up lies if you got a problem with it!

The way I remember my boxers and how long I’ve had them is if I remember getting changed in gym class with them on. There was a boy with one-arm that changed next to me and I always thought that he would make a comment about my underwear looking too childish. He never did. He was too busy trying to figure out how to get a tackle at two-hand touch football.

Then there are some normal pairs of underpants that I have. By normal, I mean no badass pictures on them. I have a couple of grey pairs, a blue one, a navy blue one, and that’s it for my boring pairs. I don’t like those boring pairs. It reminds me too much of when I was younger and wore tighty-whities. My asshole never seemed to get clean and I would leave a nice brown stripe for my mom in the back of it. She’d yell at me and tell me I wasn’t wiping well enough. I began to check my underwear before putting it in the wash for stray shit stains. Whenever I would find one, I would hide the underwear under my bed. I figured if they’re good enough to go under my pants, they’re good enough to go under my bed. I’d wait until she began to do a new load of laundry, grab my dirty underwear, and rush down to toss them into the washing machine without her knowing what a dirty ass I had. I see why she did it. I hate having a dirty asshole. It also taught me why teenage boys and then men wear baggier boxer shorts. Because they have very dirty assholes. Maybe if we put more manly things on toilet paper instead of cute puppies. Put a truck or a UFC fighter on them playing with a roll. I think it might work.

I had a nightmare a month back where some fat kid I went to high school with took my underwear and threw it. He said “You won’t be needing these anymore.” I woke up and reached down to make sure that my underwear was still on. It was there. I had dreamt the whole thing. If I get that panicked about a dream where my underwear gets tossed away, I can’t imagine how I’d feel if something more important like my spoons did.

P.S. – My only friend in real life has started up his blog again. Check it out along with the other links on my “blogroll.”

Maybe I’m in the minority. If so, then I demand equal rights. Then I demand more rights than the average person. That’s what a minority group does. They want to be equal, then they want more rights. As long as every human being has the same rights as the next, I am fine with it. Your agenda means nothing to me. Especially if you wear a dress.

I don’t like dresses. I like dressings. Everybody does. A salad without dressing sucks. One time I tried a salad with hot sauce on it. I rarely throw food away, but that food I did. Not my greatest idea. No matter what type of dress it is that a woman wears, I am not a fan.

Okay, sometimes there are dresses on certain girls and at certain times that I can admit to myself “Hey, she looks decent in that.” Usually these are slut dresses and she’s drunk and flirting with me already. She thinks I look like some celebrity that I don’t look anything like. I’ve been told by 3 people claiming that I look like Heath Ledger. They were ALL drunk. That’s why there are laws against drinking and driving. You may pull up to a stop sign, spot me, get so excited that Heath Ledger is back from the dead, and crash. Only in cases where this happens am I attracted to a girl in a dress, sometimes.

Dresses to me are weird looking. They remind me of superheroes. It’s oversized fabric, not skin-tight, usually has a dumb design on it, shows off unsexy body parts like shoulders and knees, and most of all, they’re seen as fancy. I don’t like fancy things. I am simple. I like Lobster from Maine and my Rolls Royce white. I’m easy to please is what I’m trying to say. A woman putting on a dress usually means that she has high expectations of where she’s going. Do you know how nervous that makes me? I had only planned on taking you out for burritos and now you’re in a dress. If we show up to a place without a chandelier you’ll throw a fit. Fancy things are never fun. I can’t enjoy a meal in a suit or a nice Christmas sweater. I’m too focused on not spilling. Bread always seems hard to reach for. I don’t like dressing like the wait staff either. That’s what happens when you go to fancy places and dress up fancy. You get mistaken for the help and then fired from a job that you don’t have when you refuse to bus a table. Try explaining that to the IRS. You can’t because they don’t have a reliable phone service. See what dresses do to me? They get me sidetracked.

The biggest day of any girl’s life is theoretically her wedding day. On that day, she wears a dress. A big white poofy floppy, hasn’t changed in hundreds of years, dress. Wedding dresses creep me out. I think I may have seen a movie when I was younger with a zombie in a wedding dress or maybe it’s that part in Gremlins 2 when the Gremlin goes up to kiss the guy in the bathroom while wearing a wedding dress that bothers me. Few things creep me out more than seeing a woman in a long white flowing dress. Wedding dresses are disgusting. They’re haunting. And what’s with the veil? I think that’s the worst part about it. It’s like a little see-through mask. Each time someone lifts it I get nervous that something is going to rip through their face. Old things scare me, traditions at least. A wedding dress feels too Medieval and all that reminds me of is the Bubonic Plague and then I get more freaked out. I pick up my feet afraid of rat bites. See what dresses do to me? They get me to quickly lift up my legs. I could pull a muscle or worse, a tendon doing that!

I do want to acknowledge that I get why a girl would wear a dress. It makes them feel pretty. I have never worn a dress so I don’t know if there are some special powers in the stitches that make them feel good. Until I do try on a dress, you are right and I am wrong. All that matters about clothing is how it makes you feel, not how weird I think you look in it.

I own a lot of shirts. Many of them I don’t wear because they are too big on me. I used to be fatter and I also used to work as a rapper in my spare time. I own a 3XL shirt. It never fit me right, but there were only two sizes left, 3XL and a medium. I could fit into the medium now. Back then I thought the chances of me ever being small enough for that were fat. I think that’s a pun I just made, sort of.

My shirts are organized by color. It’s not hard, 92% of them are black. I did this about 5 years ago when I was bored and now every time I move I maintain the same organization skills. I’ve gotten new shirts since and given some away to charity. I’m a good person. I give to charity. I don’t like people so I dumped it off in one of those charity dumpsters. Chances are, it was a regular dumpster and now my old clothes are killing mother earth. That doesn’t bother me. Mother earth is a bitch. Examples: Hurricanes, tornadoes, volcanoes, tsunamis, earthquakes, floods, severe heat, severe cold, overly abundant rainforests in the way of the future sites of shopping malls, etc.

I guess my choice of shirts has gotten better over the years. People never seemed to comment on them. When I was young it was always sports related shirts. That’s what us jocks do. We wear shirts of the teams that are looking to recruit us. When I got a bit older I had shirts that were of favorite television shows of mine. Sometimes people would look at my shirts and think they were silly and then never talk to me ever again. I wore those shirts a lot.

Now my shirts mostly make up of bands that I like. They not only can represent an obscure opinion of mine while advertising anti-government or anti-religion, they also fit me well and at times can trick people into thinking I have shoulders. My most popular shirts, my Iron Maiden ones.

I’m not that into Iron Maiden as most people who are into them seem to be. They’re hardcores. They think that if it ain’t metal, it’s shit. I don’t even know anyone in the band. That’s kind of pathetic considering how I own two shirts of them. They have very Swedish names, I think. I know they’re English, most likely. Really I should do some research on this but my brain is already filled with so much garbage. Do I need to really know the name of the idiot drummer to enjoy their art? No. That’s like knowing the name of the guy that mixes Britney Spears’ music to make her sound human. It’s unnecessary and time is better spent rocking out.

Overall I only own one Iron Maiden shirt, which when worn properly, makes me look strong. My other Iron Maiden clothing is a hoodie. The hoodie is too big and whenever I see myself in the mirror wearing it I get the feeling that everyone things that I have a stomach on my lower back. A big stomach too. I try not to think about it that much because a guy that made me a sandwich at Wawa complimented me on it. He said “Nice shirt!” and I smiled at lifted my sandwich to him agreeing. Another guy, at a different Wawa, who was filling my gas tank, saw me wearing my Iron Maiden t-shirt and tried talking to me about the lead singer. I agreed with everything he said because I couldn’t tell you the difference between the lead singer and the guy who parks their bus. One other time with that same t-shirt, a nerdy black kid asked me what I thought of their new album. I must have missed the episode of Family Matters where Erkel becomes a metalhead. This Obama clone new more about a band that I love than I did. I embarrassed myself by saying “I don’t know what their new album is” instead of just agreeing. Here’s a tip for you. If you don’t know or don’t give a shit, agree. Very few people are actually trying to fool you. Your best bet is always to just agree with whatever it is they are saying.

More people than that have complimented me on my Iron Maiden clothing. My one neighbor said “Cool shirt!” and I wasn’t sure he was talking to me. A month later I was wearing my Social Distortion shirt and he yelled again from his balcony “Cool shirt!” I guess that’s his “in” with a friendship. We’ve talked two times since. Once was about how I saw that he had a Canadian flag hanging inside his home and he’s not Canadian. Go figure. The second was when he thought I knocked on his door and he came outside. I had to explain to him at 12:30 at night that it was the maintenance man going inside the people above me to shut off their air conditioning because it was leaking down my wall. He nodded and went back inside to look like comedian Judah Friedlander. Sometimes he has a black guy over. Could it be Tracy Morgan?

But I love my shirts. All of them. They help keep my shame inside. If there is one thing that I am good at, it’s getting people to notice my shirts and have something to say about it. I never wear a shirt without a design. It makes me feel like everyone is judging the oval, circle, and triangular shapes that my body can form into when not perfecting my posture. A design can distract someone and even tell a stranger a little bit about yourself. I love that. Someone will know immediately if we have something in common. Nobody would ever compliment you on wearing a plain orange shirt. So don’t do it. Put on some swag with a cool design that will beg a few questions from others. What song did that band do? What city does that team play in? Is that girl old enough to have one of those in her mouth?