Hollister

July 31, 2008

I remember when Hollister was called Tommy Hilfinger.

I guess when Kevin Federline starts wearing your ugly shirts, you have to change your name to something like Hollister.

Hey, you! The dork wearing the t-shirt that reads “Hollister” across the chest! You’re a tool.

What does brandishing a shirt with the manufacturer’s name across it say about the wearer? That you need somebody else’s logo to validate your existence? That you’re a sucker who’s willing to pay to advertise a brand that will implode the day Ryan Seacrest slips one on?

That you dye your pubic hair blond and host cuddle parties on your futon?

To me, it says “you’re hippo food.” And I don’t normally eat fruit.

Frisbeeā„¢

July 1, 2008

Have you ever watched three dudes jog onto the beach, one twirling a Frisbee on his index finger? Yeah, you have. Instinctively, much in the way a sand crab knows to pinch toes, the three chums form The Triangle.

The first throw is pretty good. Sure, the guy misses it, but come on, it’s early.

The second throw sails over the third pal’s head. Dude?! Where did you learn to throw a Frisbee? Mexico? The Triangle loses its classic shape at the Frisbee is retrieved.

The third toss lands several yards into the ocean, and now people are getting irritated. Have you tried aiming? No. Have you tried fucking yourself?

Uh oh. The fourth toss becomes a sideways pie plate that rolls like a BC wheel and stops no where near anyone. You threw it! You get it!

Now the three Frisbee boys are no longer friends, and a once pleasant afternoon is ruined by a plastic disc. Later, a man is found dismembered and folded in a glove box. Coincidence?

You never see Hippos throw Frisbees.