The prodigal son returns once again, fresh from a perilous journey of dubious import. What pray tell have I been up to? Making a public nuisance of myself, mostly, it's more fun that way.
I look at my stats and nod my head in agreement, double digits everyday might be a bit too much to ask with my prolific output and an unquenchable penchant for puerile concerns. I want puerility matched by profundity, though I often misstep in search of the latter. Woest me. It is what it is. Resignation is better than redundancy, but not by much.
Let me give you an insight in to the way my mind operates sometimes (the rest of the time is typified by clinical logic bordering on sterility), not sure if I should seek therapy... What's more important than T-shirts? The short answer: nothing. Sure you don't want to be caught leaving the house without undies, let alone pants, but roll with me on this one, I promise either way you'll probably be disappointed. T-shirts can tell you a lot about a person, it's an essential fashion item in any self respecting manly man's wardrobe. Consequently I rigorously screen each and every t-shirt I wear in an attempt to fool people into thinking I'm cool while I'm out making an ass of myself.
A couple of weeks ago it fell to the much vaunted Sponge Bob Square Pants T to assure the goodwill and kindness (hopefully expressed in the form of free alcohol) of strangers. In which attempt its charms and mine failed miserably. I have never endured so many hateful glares and stares in my life. Except at high school. It's a cold hearted world we're living in when not even Sponge Bob can lighten the mood. Ever heard of irony people. I'd make a terrible hipster. The incongruity of a burly man, such as my self, wearing a child's t-shirt may have been too much to bare. I don't know. Cognitive dissonance strikes again. Sorry Spongey you're demoted to the bottom of the rotation.
Perhaps this cunning advertisement gave me the wrong impression
This weekend just gone, I went with a slightly different approach. The patented chimpanzee-dressed-as-a-jockey-riding-a-t-rex T-shirt, to much better results. It was amazing. I didn't clear out tables when I randomly sat at them, all was right with the world, my mojo was in full effect. I haven't quite figured out why, but it seems you can never go wrong with monkeys (requisite Ozomatli reference: check. And yeah, chimps aren't monkeys, I know, bite me. Please). So what have we learned? T-shirt selection is a delicate, nay, mysterious process oft times beset by incomprehensible reactions of alarmed onlookers. Regardless, of the outcome a soldier must persevere, imposing his/her/its will on the opposition. A anglo or nigga (notice strategically spelt with an 'a') or whatevz gotta come correct. OK, we didn't really learn anything. Class dismissed.
