It’s mid-day, you’re taking a leisurely stroll down Nowhereville Lane when you pass a yard populated with some dude mowing his lawn… nothing strange there, he’s just shirtless. No matter. You continue down the road, listening to the crows sing about some sort or another of carrion they’ve managed to scavenge when you pass another homestead. Here there is another gentleman, he happens to be checking the timing on his vintage Camero, also shirtless… this seems a little stranger, but no bother. Again you take to ambulation, but now you are painfully aware of men in all varieties of age and fitness and ethnicities, all either working alone or in packs; fixing roofs, changing oil, drinking tea, offering little boys bags of sugar for a mere tuppence and a few strands of pubic hair… is Rod Sterling behind this? Leo and Satan?
This, ladies and gentlemen, is the rarely spoken of conspiracy known only as “Shirtless Male Syndrome.” You will notice men when they are around their significant other; slow, docile, and barely able to function beyond tying shoelaces. Their minds seem to be almost brought down to a base primal level of mere beasts of burden. There is only one known cure for an Alpha who, despite having a below level of intelligence anyway, is slowed to a snails pace when encumbered by either natural or unnatural fibers constricting vascular areas of the back and neck.
Where is the proof you may ask. Simple, it exists in the suburbs and the rural jungles, in schticks and cities, from Stuckies to HyVee. Men everywhere, in order to complete a job of any varying nature, require their shirts to be elsewhere. You may have never noticed this before, but soon, very soon, you sill see this in practice. It is almost as if society itself is attaching a yoke to men around the world in order to drop testosterone and thus turn men into drooling invalids. UberCrappie, Air-O-Poopster, these are the natural enemies of men everywhere. Be afraid, be very afraid.
My point being, they’re everywhere. From toddler to octogenarian, they’re all over the damned place. I laugh every time I see one of these guys, and more power to them for letting their beer bellies flap freely in the breeze… but let’s face it, if you’re going to do it the least you could do is work out a little.
It truly is a wonderful world in which we live. How amazing is it that we have so many ways to individualize ourselves to show just how creative and absolutely personalized we have become? On top of that we can make these personalizatons evolve in infinite means, or simply scrap the lot and start something new and unique. The possibilities are as vast as our imaginations can perceive.
You know what I have never seen, which still amazes me to this day? Why have I never seen a blond woman wearing copious amounts of pink? I don’t mean the Vickies Pink, I mean pink cell phone cases with matching backpack shoes and top. Where is this? Why has no enterprising individual taken the effort to dye their hair a strenuously false shade of blond and adorn herself with the most sickeningly Pepto-Pink accoutrements in history? Where is this ‘blond and pink?’
OK ladies and gents, this is the deal. Why are there so many women out there who have decided that the end all be all of fashion is this detestable combo of bleach blond hair and pink clothing? Is there no originality put there? In this wave of peroxide we do find the rare Rockabilly, Goth, Punk, Pin-up, Lolita, Harajuku, and other styles… But they happen so infrequently that I am starting to think this ‘blond and pink’ pandemic is starting to get out of control. Sure, you average college nimrod is going to seek out your toeheaded falsities like a twat seeking missile, but is that really all you care about? I mean… Damn. If getting one crappy lay after another is your only goal in life, then sure, go for it. But please, think of the children. What happens when you mix two shallow gene pools? It might get a little deeper, but the chlorine mixture is WAY off.
Let me put it this way. I have an ‘in-law’ relation who shall not be named. She is your typical shallow, insurance fraudulent, all shine no polish, uneducated maroon who showed up at her kids graduation ceremony in, you guessed it, a pink sweatsuit and sneakers combination that showed off her goods. She may not be blond, but the over extravagant amount of pink balanced out the equation.
My point? Try… PLEASE… Try to be a jet setter. Be original. Do whatever you can to stem this tide of pink and peroxide. It lost it’s quirkiness with Legally Blond and it should have died there. Please, if you have any hope for the existence and future of humanity, end this bane on the human race quickly… We don’t have much time left before it takes us all.