Some Famous Asshole Needs to Start Wearing Skirts

And do it stat.  Been hotter than Texas asphalt in Joo-lie all summer and I’ve still got a pants crotch stuffed all up in my gear.  Yeah shorts are alright, but skirts are the cat’s ass.  I wore a skirt once upon a time in college, for Halloween in Athens, Ohio.  Always a raucous affair.  Per usual I’d drank most of my disposable income by the end of the month, and at this particular time I lived in a house with 4 birds.  That did not last long, as men and women are not meant to live with one another.  At least not until they are ready to be miserable the rest of their days and thus get married.  But given my current lack of funding for a costume and the convenience of living with aforementioned birds, I had them dress me up as a bird myself.  I have to be honest with you, I was pretty fucking hot.  I was repeatedly hit on by this completely pissed Athens townie while at Pawpurr’s, while his just slightly less pissed friends unsuccessfully tried to convince him I was a dude.  I had to tell him, “Listen, I’m not some dime store whore you bend over in the toilet.  You want under this skirt, you’ve got to take me to Applebee’s and a movie, Don Juan.”  He eventually fell on the floor and broke 2 of his remaining 7 teeth, which allowed me to pursue my buzz and realize the liberating effect of a breeze blowing right up your ass.  Outstanding!  I have no idea when or why men foolishly cast away their loin cloths and their kilts for confining pants.  If it were socially acceptable for men to rock skirts or kilts or what-have-you, I’d very quickly jump this bandwagon.  My uncle Charlie boldly adorned himself in Blackwatch kilt for my own wedding.  Those who weren’t familiar with Charlie wondered quietly who the weirdo in a plaid skirt was, but as is Charlie’s custom, he didn’t give 1/2 a fuck.  I respected the shit out of it.  Unfortunately for me, I was cursed with giving a fuck, and as such I need to call upon Brad Pitt, George Clooney, that asshat Ashton Kutcher, or ideally Justin Timberlake to start sporting one around Beverly Hills.  As soon as that shit hit TMZ and Entertainment Tonight, yours truly would be emboldened to follow suit.  I’ve been jealous all summer when I see a woman in a summery dress and I know that her crotch is getting all sorts of oxygen that mine direly lacks.  I obviously wouldn’t do something suicidal and wear it in the Bible Belt or to a county fair, where I would have to answer the question, “Hey faggot!  Are you some kinda faggot or somethin’?” until I eventually was relieved of my teeth and possibly tethered to the back of a pickup truck for a little scenic tour of the back roads.  If JT reads this blog, and I’ve no reason to think he doesn’t, then get on it fucker.  My ass is sweaty.

About Zach

Male homo sapien. Warrior poet. I live in Chicago with one wife, one offspring, and Scout the dog. I enjoy various stuff. Besides skinny skiing and going to bullfights on acid, I also enjoy running, reading, drinking, eating and procrastinating on many things, such as starting this blog. I have a mom, a dad, and a younger brother who recently produced a sister-in-law. I'm the only person in my family, sister-in-law included, who doesn't have a post-graduate degree. I guess that makes me special. I grew up in a small to medium sized town in the middle of Ohio. In fact the even smaller town next door has a sign which reads "The Geographic Center of Ohio". Given this is what they choose to boast you can only imagine how exciting that town is. My town is infinitely cooler. For example on weekend nights people from my town and the surrounding villages and hamlets converge on the public square to "cruise" in their souped-up mini trucks, some bearing Confederate flags, despite growing up and living rather safely north of the Mason-Dixon line. This is high-minded stuff we're talking about here. I graduated sometime during the Clinton presidency from the local high school where I played football and participated in absolutely nothing else. This strategy paid huge dividends when I applied to numerous colleges on the eastern seaboard which were highly selective. When you show up to the admissions table with "HIgh School Football and Nothing Else" on your application, you get respect. After graduating from Ohio University with a degree in Economics that I've used for absolutely nothing, I moved to Boston. Boston is a lovely city. I was doing things I'm not proud of for beer money and I left after 16 months. My next move was to Chicago and 10+ years later there I still reside. I write this blog for therapeutic reasons. Much like some people paint to relax or smoke crack to unwind after a stressful day, I record my thoughts on Al Gore's World Wide Web for 9 friends, 4 family members, 1 person who accidentally clicked through after an unsuccessful Google search for something else, and a guy named Patriot1 who lives in a silver Air Stream in the Nevada desert and broadcasts his own radio show. Is there a point to all of this? I doubt it. Years ago and in a galaxy far, far away (College Park, Maryland, then Athens, Ohio) I was toying with the idea of being a journalism major. I enjoyed writing so it seemed the obvious fit. Then I attended career day and learned that journalism majors could look forward to a salary of $EA,TSH.IT per year with the promise of a fatal heart attack at 47 years of age. I'm not falling for that trick, I told them (them being no one, and told being saying it in my own mind in the shower). Approximately 15 years later here I sit declared the big winner in that battle: I never made any money doing anything else and now I'm writing entirely for free. So suck balls, journalism career day. The views expressed in this website are mine and mine entirely. I don't wish to be an even bigger black eye to my family than I probably already am. As a result of this I will never be able to run for public office and I accept that reality. But this website is a very dignified, well-dressed skeleton full of witty retorts and honorable deeds compared to the disheveled, stenching, staggering and loud skeletons who would come marching out of the closet to White Zombie's "Thunderkiss '65" if they ever unearthed the college years. So enjoy your train ride, your hangover day at work, your AA meeting or your dump. I'm here to serve.
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