He parked his assbag mobile and shuffled towards me with an exaggerated white boy “pimp limp” that made 50 Cent look like Andrew McCarthy in prep school on a tennis scholarship. He was wearing a nylon warm-up suit with the sleeves ripped off, exposing his assortment of barbed wire and pit bull tattoos. The top was zipped down to his belly button so he could flaunt his nipple rings and glittery chest. (I’m not kidding. There was glitter on it.) His camouflage-print hat was turned a notch to the side to show off his overly sculptured Jesse Metcalfesque eyebrows that framed his dullard eyes like caterpillars. In short, he looked so much like Kevin Federline that I found myself clutching my wallet and putting on a dress made of lead to protect my reproductive organs. Gucci tinted sunglasses at night? Check. Spray on tan? Check. Vacant look with accompanying smirk? Check. General uselessness as a human being? Check. Leather and metal-studded arm band that went from wrist to elbow? Check.
Wait a second.
I know. I was thinking the same thing. Where does THAT garment come into play? I was so confused by this accessory, I had to follow him to see if I could make sense of it all.
In case you’re missing Maggie’s brilliance, I’m pointing you to it for your own edification (I’m looking at you SJ).