I’m not a blogger! Exclamation point. Not period – exclamation point! So don’t expect me to go blogging every morning, ’cause I won’t. So let’s carry on with this floccinaucinihilipilification. (Yes, this is an actual word).
Since I have your attention, I must share this tale of bravery, pugnaciousness, torment, loathing and sex with minors.
I was walking (or “Cruisin’ in da hood pimp stylee, boi!” as the hip people say) my way to a clothing shop here in my city when nothing interested happened. So I entered the store and start looking around, with nothing to eat for days, checking stuff out, when, suddenly, a cool punk-rock-plaid-pants came up! And yeah, I’m a poser, so I thought to myself “tis going to be A-W-E-S-O-M-E”. So I grabbed the pants, got into the dressing room and tried them on. It looked A-W-E-S-O-M-E (I’ll never get tired of this). I felt like no one in the whole world looked so smoothly trendy as me! So there I was, buying the shit out of that funky plaid pants!
The weekend passed and Monday came. “This is going to be the punk-rock-plaid-pants-day, man!”, I said to myself. Babies were smiling at me. The sun was up and everything felt right! As soon as I put those pants on, I knew something was wrong. I looked like a dork with those plaid pants on! But I did not gave up. My maid said to me “be strong, Eddie! You can still do this!”. Then my mom, dad, brother… Everyone was cheering for me, clapping and giving me the green light to rock the world with those pants! It felt right!
I was wrong. It was not fun.
As I was cruisin’ in da hood pimp stylee again, I knew I’ve left my money and my sense of self-despair on that dressing room.
But there’s still hope: next step -> leather pants.
Oh, and if you’re here for the sex with minors, you should be ashamed of yourself.
