I will never understand how, in an era where the sidewalks of cities across the world are littered with bloggerizers armed with 32GB iPhone 3G S's that have cameras and internet connections and apps for that, how a grown man could let himself walk out of the house with the bottom half of his body clad in this...
...and not expect to be made famous (or infamous, perhaps?? Like a pirate? Yar? Who's with me?) by this blog, which you are the only person not reading.
Blue pants? Seriously? AND blue shoes that are not made from suede, but rather from some mass-produced, glossy, scratch-resistant polymer (sort of pictured, and also sort of not pictured)? Even the great Elvis Prestley would has his work cut out for him trying to rhapsodize about those shoes while keeping his rhymes and beats funky fresh, and Alvis Prasley is the greatest ever* when it comes to rhapsodizing about shoes while keeping his rhymes and beats funky fresh, right? Right?
Oh, and as for the blurriness, ha ha, yeah, thanks for pointing that out! See, what happened was that I was laughing, and also I took this picture on a moving train, and also, fuck you for noticing, you jerk. I suppose you're too cool to spend entire subway rides covertly snapping pictures of random strangers and their fashion faux pas, right? Why don't you go stick your head in a bucket of something gross and/or toxic. Who do you think you are, Alvin Praxley or something? You make me sick.
'Kay, bye! Thanks for reading!
*Okay, that's not true. Technically. Pretzly is good, but nobody beats Michael Bublé when it comes to songs about shoes and funky fresh beats.
You really should be working for Vice magazine:
or at least reading the Vice Dos and Don'ts book that your own company published.
Sorry, but I work for Dole Fruit. We don't publish anything.
The jig is up, buddy. Once you got rid of those eyeglasses of the mild-mannered fruit worker you exposed your true identity as a publishing drone. ADMIT IT.
Look, you, even if that were true (which it isn't), I wouldn't admit it because everyone knows it's not safe to give out sensitive, identifying details that might get you into trouble with an employer or prospective employer. Hint, hint, anonymous. (That means shut up.)
Wait, this isn't the Matt that works at Penthouse Letters? No wonder why there's a decided lack of boobs on this blog.
It's not that kind of blog. Otherwise, you probably wouldn't be the only person not reading it.
Just for the record, though, look here. Scroll down.
I'll also add, Anonymous, that considering you and I are here, I'd say there isn't such a decided lack of boobs after all.
Calling one of your only readers a boob. Nice.
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