A honed onus on your Hanes anus
I turn my back for a booze-soaked moment and already we're 5 days deep into my fave month outta the year. The icing on the proverbial cake squirted 'cross my proverbial nipples this afternoon when I watched my coworkers one by one stalk off to class, with me softly cushioned in the knowledge that all I gots is the responsibility of not completely fucking my shit up at work for once (or twice).
Nah, I jest. I hold that shit down. It is how I get paid.
But really, I started writing up some damn weekend review notice for you all to check so you were aware that that Quincy fuck surely consumed his share of beers, ensuring that his selection covered the range of prices that any respectable hipster-shit would dabble in. But that is on some serious boring Facebook steez, and we do things in a different, glittery manner. How glittery you ask?
Dude, I went and browsed a store dealing in the finest of $250 selvage denims. With a coworker manfriend.
And my girlie was outta town.
So we roll plenty glittery when the fancy strikes, but I added my own touch. See, I still haven't popped this blister and rather then bandage it up for society's sake I just let the damn thing hang out. The guy working the store kept trying on their $200 oxfords and stuff on in front of me. I think he noticed the pus-bulge and feared I would spill my savage stagnant seed all over their vintage circa-1740 hand-beaten Puritan-style rockstar-pants or whatever. He was probably right, and I can't afford that stuff anyways. So perhaps it was all for the best.
At any rate, I still haven't punctured the damn thing -- no needles about since we moved, y'see -- so if any of you wanna let me know how long you've gone with an intact blister and if these things start to smell like fish oil or dead eggs, please drop me a line 'cause I'm getting nervous.
Nah, I jest. I hold that shit down. It is how I get paid.
But really, I started writing up some damn weekend review notice for you all to check so you were aware that that Quincy fuck surely consumed his share of beers, ensuring that his selection covered the range of prices that any respectable hipster-shit would dabble in. But that is on some serious boring Facebook steez, and we do things in a different, glittery manner. How glittery you ask?
Dude, I went and browsed a store dealing in the finest of $250 selvage denims. With a coworker manfriend.
And my girlie was outta town.
So we roll plenty glittery when the fancy strikes, but I added my own touch. See, I still haven't popped this blister and rather then bandage it up for society's sake I just let the damn thing hang out. The guy working the store kept trying on their $200 oxfords and stuff on in front of me. I think he noticed the pus-bulge and feared I would spill my savage stagnant seed all over their vintage circa-1740 hand-beaten Puritan-style rockstar-pants or whatever. He was probably right, and I can't afford that stuff anyways. So perhaps it was all for the best.
At any rate, I still haven't punctured the damn thing -- no needles about since we moved, y'see -- so if any of you wanna let me know how long you've gone with an intact blister and if these things start to smell like fish oil or dead eggs, please drop me a line 'cause I'm getting nervous.
posted by Quincy Hoist at 6:14 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home