The Unbearable Stretch Pants of Being

Hey Shamefaucet,

What’s your “philosophy”? Is it “cause no harm, except for to the overweight and the sightless”? Why won’t you drive a HUGE white SUV really FAST or alternatively INCREDIBLY SLOWLY down a THOROUGHFARE in suburban ATLANTA? Yeah? No? OK, I’ll do you one better… Why don’t you send a fucking TEXT MESSAGE to a MAJOR ARTS FOUNDATION, to one of the board members? Make the text really inscrutable, something like HEYY THE FRUITINESS OF THE HOPPS TAINT GROWLDEN. Yeah. Red Hook. For the lay-up. Twice. Nine-pointer.

Your acne reminds me of Marshall McLuhan’s cameo in Annie Hall. Remember when you were on the phone with the J. Crew customer service representative, but we were also hooking up at the same time? I found out later that you were really fantasizing about the J. Crew representative. And still later, I dove into an ice-cold patch of the bering strait wearing ONLY J. CREW. AND I DROWNED. BUT NOT FATALLY. I SURVIVED. I DOVE DOWN INTO AN UNDERWATER, all-white SUV. swam in through the open driver’s side window. Frozen and deceased, I rolled up the windows, turned on the air-conditioner, slapped the ‘reverse’ button, drained all the water out. Turned on the heat, cracked open a wet-sac, put on dry clothes. Popped in a blu-ray. Finding Wall-E, one of the first Disney Mashups of the decade. 2020, babe. Practically seamless.

Signed,

Shane MacLoardness
Los Angeles Calibre Assoc.

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