Thursday, 17 July 2008

TRASHFORCE REAPER

I think I'm gonna just throw in the attractive towel and buy some 90s boardshorts for the few inevitable visits to the beach (which normally I couldn't give one hundredth of a shit about but looks newly prepossessing now that I'm back from the Big Smoke the summer), because let's face it, the only time I am going to be there is with a beer in my hand and surrounded by stoned guys and I kind of want to look like the mannish, biker-t-shirt-wearing jerkoff that I sometimes am, but you guys, is it maybe just a bit too Wayne's World? Because as much as I enjoy the 80s metal aesthetic I also enjoy the whole "not being a completely asexual figure of ridicule" thing that I've kind of been rocking up to now.

Am also toying with the idea of getting the phrase “Trashforce Reaper” tattooed on my arm, even though I will freely admit that it is in fact the name of a t-shirt design, because I think everyone can agree that “Trashforce Reaper” sound like simultaneously the most epic and the most unpleasant job description ever. If you think a tattoo is too much, then I guess there’s always deed poll; I know you’re going to say that “Trashforce” is a pretty masculine-sounding forename and maybe you’re right but then again holy fuck you judgemental asshole, do you really think your name sounds any better?

Overheard at the Hart last night, verbatim:
"My mate slept with a prostitute and got explosive gonorrhea. He cried at work."

I am happy to remain 100% ignorant of how it is biologically possible for the clap to be "explosive".

No comments: