Images via Son of a Stag
Buy a pair of these Bull Terrier Hi Night Sneakers from Buddy (available in black grain and white grain leather) and prepare for a life of explaining to your friends, coworkers, and random strangers that they are not Chuck Taylors. “They’re from Japan”, you’ll say. “And they cost a fuck of a lot more than Chucks”, you’ll add, under your breath. It doesn’t matter. No one’s listening to you. What else is new? No one understands you. You’re like the Voynich manuscript or the metaphysics of the Matrix sequels. You’re like a Trump tweet turned flesh. There isn’t a human being in the world that gets you. Except me. I get you. I know what makes you tick. I know your hopes, your fears. I know what turns you on, what tears you down. I know where you live. I know what your bedroom looks like. Don’t look behind you. You won’t like what you see. By the way, your hair smells nice. Do you put something special in it or is that the natural scent of your scalp? No need to answer. I enjoy the mystery. You ever play Clue? I like to do it with the candlestick in the billiard room, but I’ll settle for a French press in a studio apartment, if that’s what’s on offer. You ever play Shark Attack? Eventually the shark breaks and the game is fucked. Not really relevant here, but it’s frustrating nonetheless. What’s your favorite board game? Let me know in the comments. I almost genuinely mean that. Let’s play a quick game of Monopoly. I promise not to knock over the table and storm off angrily, after you build hotels on all the good properties. Why do I keep buying the railroads? Everybody knows they’re fucking useless. What is wrong with me? No need to answer that either -RB
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