Images via H.Lorenzo
If you’re #ultrablessed enough to be able to afford an Embroidered Kimono Souvenir Jacket from Maharishi (available in Black Ecru and Olive Ecru), then you should cop one and donate it to me. Before I go on a wild tangent, I must strongly recommend that you take your ass over to H.Lorenzo and check out all the crazy garms they carry -- shit is legendary. Okay, back to why you should permanently lend me a 995 USD jacket. Charity feels good. Plus, you can write it off on next year’s taxes. Cop a jacket for yourself too, I guess. That part doesn’t really concern me. Your jacket, your business. An individual’s rights to property and expression are the fabric of civilization. To fuck with them is to fuck with the foundations of our very society. And you don’t want to fuck with the foundations of our very society, for obvious reasons. You ever eat at a Johnny Rockets? Exactly. Don’t get the point? Too bad. That’s fashion, baby. It doesn’t need to make sense. Save your concerns about sense-making for assessing the validity of extraordinary claims on the internet and/or by the current president. Not trying to get political, but damn. The last couple days’ news have had me like [insert modern and appropriate emoji or emoji relative]. Anyone see that important news story where David Spade got owned by the “Cash me outside, howbow dah?” girl (née Danielle Peskowitz Bregoli), via harsh Instagram comment? Too cold. If Oxygen gives her a show, I’ll definitely watch the first few episodes, as soon as I run out of Bad Girls Club. You know what? Now that I think about it, she might as well just go on Bad Girls Club and save Oxygen some money and me some time. My taste in television is like a raccoon's taste in food: sure, I’ll eat some delicious fresh fruits, plants, nuts, berries, insects, rodents, frogs, eggs, or crayfish, but I’m equally happy digging through festering piles of rancid trash -RB
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