I have no idea what I’m looking at, but I need it to stop. Not only is there nothing on heaven or Earth that could compel me to wear those shoes, I’m never taking this man out to lunch. Even if he offered to pay. Even if he offered to drive and pay and feed me peeled grapes, I would not do it. He licked the bottom of a shoe, that’s all you need to know. I don’t think I need to explain myself further.
For a full 45 seconds, I thought this was the coolest thing I’d ever seen. I started visualizing a future where I’d speed around on my uni-board, completely carefree, and with a righteous hairdo. I’d ride it absolutely everywhere, regardless of whether it was convenient, or even safe, to do so. I know I wouldn’t be able to ride it on the highway or freeways, but I’d always keep it at my side. I’d buckle it into the passenger seat if I had to drive anywhere, so I could hop on my board as soon as I arrived. I immediately fell in love with that board and I didn’t think that anything could change my mind — until I saw that it cost $1,500.
After that I managed to get over it pretty quickly. It’s good, but it isn’t that good — I guess.
Tapout: The Official Attire Of The Anti-Borderline Boy
(Warning: salty language — all these flavors and you had to be salty?)
I’ve been told that I dress like a dad, but that can’t be true because my dad never dressed this good. I find that I dress like more of a grandpa, but that’s besides the point. Every day I wake up, shower, throw on whatever is first in my closet, and then continue with my day. It’s not really a process I have to think about or pay much attention to because I know that whatever I put on it’ll be fine — nothing I own had Tapout written on the front. I could throw on plaids and stripes and it would be better than a Tapout t-shirt. I could wear nothing but ass-less chaps and it would be better than Tapout attire. I’d rather show the world my soft, white buttocks than project an image of profound dickbaggery.
This might not be the case everywhere, but in my town every man wears jorts, mandels, a Tapout t-shirt, and drives a pickup truck with little brass balls hanging off the back. Now you can see where my animosity for Tapout stems from. I’m sure they’re all very nice people, but if I see another Tapout shirt, pickup-truck, mandel combo I’m going to — er — do something nasty.
I don’t have the heart to rip the shirt off their back and burn it in front of them, but I do have the heart to slash their tires. That’s not a threat it’s just an observation. A threat would be that I’m going to buy Tapout t-shirts and give them to all my friends, because the NSA ranks that on the same level as a chemical-weapons attack on a major city center.
It’s okay, I don’t know what the title means either. I was trying to be like those hip skateboarder dudes, but it didn’t work. I think that’s how they talk, I’m not really sure. My friends are the only reference I have and they can barely speak English let alone skater-English. They typically communicate through grunts and gesticulations, so writing it down in a readable format is borderline impossible. Other than the occasional bruh, dude, and chah, not too many words are exchanged.
I just wanted to hang out with the cool kids. I used to be a cool kid, but it was way too much work, so I stopped. Going outside is a prerequisite of being cool nowadays, so I want nothing to do with it. I’d rather acquire coolness by proxy from the much cooler people I hang out with. They all flock to me because I’m so utterly uncool I’ve come full circle and I’m hip again.While we’re all hanging out I siphon off their cool, which elevates me to an untouchable realm of hip that defies description. I’m immediately transformed into their leader even though I’m socially incompetent on every level. I’m simply a vampire that steals everything that isn’t nailed down and regurgitates it in a slightly different form.
This is probably what it’s like to be a politician.