Another free bin score, and I was interested because I guess this is one of the standard bearers for fancy fuckers to get ideas for their fancy assed shit from. Seemed weird to me to want to just sit around and look at other people’s really nice shit and want to bite their style. There was one cool as fuck looking house, all simplified stucco walls and painted like banana and orange colors, with a pimp ass pool with a secret ninja access path from the master’s bedroom, but fuck man, I have three kids. You can’t have nice shit like that with three kids, unless you’d rather your Liberian house servant raise the kids elsewhere during the days. I just bought my wife a painting for her birthday and it’s really funny to have shitty trailer park wood panel walls in our living room, a ceiling with buckles at parts from the shitty drywall job someone before us did, and then this $1000 painting on the wall. Ideally, it would be interesting if someone did a fucked up 30/20-something type of magazine like this, but I’m also more than sensible enough to realize that would be ironic hipster douchism times two thousand if it was actually done, nothing but gay dudes showing off their rare Motown singles and Indian grad students (“thank you come again” Indian, not “on the rez” Indian) pimping PBR paraphernalia. By the way, I was in a junk store today and there was a plug in light display of a Schlitz Malt Liquor Bull with the words ON TAP. Like it was big, for bars. First off, I feel bad that Red Bull has been completely forgotten in regards to the Schlitz malt liquor bulls, and will probably not be remembered at all since Red Bull is an energy drink now very popular with frat boys and Britney Spears types. But man, what kind of world existed at some point where they had an actual bar with the Schlitz Malt Liquor bull not only tap, but proudly on tap with a big fucking sign to brag upon it? Holy fuck man. I’m a pretty burly and reckless individual, but I’d think I’d be afraid to go in a joint like that. Or I wouldn’t, hard to say. Honestly, I’d probably go in, sit around uncomfortably while drinking two beers, maybe talk to one dude closest to me at the bar, soak it all in, then leave. None of my pussy friends would ever do that much, so then I’d make up some bullshit bedazzling garnish to it all and let it be part of my steady rotation of stories I tell to show people who I’ve done so much more wackier shit than they could ever hope to do.
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