Fuck you, Kill Pretty. Why can’t I sit at home and drink my whiskey in peace?
I’m headed to the Goodwill in downtown because I think, “Fuck it. Today is just as good as any other to die,” and on my way I see an American Apparel billboard ad.
I don’t see why everyone talks so much shit on these ads. They’re like public porn appealing to the modern day pervert. In the masses. It’s great. Those giant billboards—aside from being the culprit to many a car accident—give the homeless something to jerk off to. Vagrants need love too, even if it is self performed. While they’re practicing The Art of Zen and Blowing Thyself, they’ve got the motivation they need to succeed. As long as their ass is pointed to the direction of the sign.
That success, that talent, is a new special skill to add to the resume. To get themselves off those filthy streets and into a good, honest job, performing in one of those sex act carnival freak shows. So good job, American Apparel, for cleaning up the streets of America.
ADDENDUM: Oh yeah. I bought an Akai CR-81D 8 track player. I don’t know shit about it. I don’t have any tapes. And apparently neither does Goodwill.