"Sometimes the sun sets on Saturday night, and doesn't come up 'til Thursday morning."
Assist me in analysing this quotable quote of Monsieur Jelly's, gentle reader, if you would be so kind.
Does it mean that Jelly is not remembering the events between Saturday night and Thursday morning?
Or does it mean that he's all Vrrrp vrrrp vrreeep, and is not sleeping during this time? Vrrrp vrrrp vrreeep is obviously the sound that amphetamines make if you are to apply an electron hearing tube to their surface.
I am leaning towards the latter. SteveSteve, the former.
I went clothes shopping the other day.
This is an action that I try and avoid as much as possible.
Why do I hate clothes shopping, you ponder...
Vhy? I tell you vhy, sergei!
Firstly, you have to go to a shop that sells clothes.
This involves a few things. First, you need to find a shop that sells clothes.
Then, you need to travel there. Find a park. Remember where you parked. Walk to the shop.
Then comes the actual selection of the clothes.
You've got to find the clothes. Right size, right colour, right fabric.
It's a fucking joke!
Then you have to try them on: Find the changeroom, get the thing off the person, get out of your street clothes, get into the new clothes, get out of the new clothes, get into your street clothes.
THEN YOU HAVE TO PAY FOR THEM!
That's right... YOU HAVE TO GIVE PEOPLE MONEY FOR SOMETHING YOU DON'T EVEN WANT TO DO!
Nevertheless, sometimes buying clothes in necessary. As a child of the alternative revolution - occassionally my clothes run into certain issues re: rippage and miscellaneous disrepair.
As a young professional, this is undesirable.
So, I went clothes shopping.
I did all of the things described above, re: shirts, bar paying for them.
Having obtained my shirts, I thought perhaps I might obtain some pants.
So, I presented myself to the K-Mart pants rack.
"O! Pants Raque! Might I trouble you for some new pants, my liege?" I asked of the Pants Rack.
"Verily, I have many pants," said the Pants Rack, "Choose as you wish!"
So, I examined the pants.
I was distracted from my pants perusal by a person attempting to pursue conversation.
What is it about people that they feel they can talk to other people?
This person was an old guy - early 50s maybe?
And he's on the other side of the pants rack - and he says to me: "I need a 3X at least these days, to cover it all up. Well, most of it anyway." He is referring to shirts, despite looking at pants.
He laughs at his joke. I sort of do a half-hearted fake laugh.
Then I make some sort of comment in the spirit of tall person solidarity. As per this solidarity, I wink.
The meaning of my wink: The short man is trying to keep the tall man down, brother - I'm right there with ya. Viva!
Not the meaning of my wink: Perhaps we could get together for some sweaty, sweaty manlove?
The wink may have been a mistake.
"How tall are you?"
"Do you have a girlfriend?"
"What do you do?"
"Do you want to go get coffee later."
A gay pick-up in K-Mart.
Isn't that a little tacky?