Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Letters to clothes, 2010

Dear Nightmarish Collection of Hippie Garments,

Sorry I screamed just now. It's just that there are so, so many of you. And that means there are just as many hippies out there, waiting to be clothed by you. It's a hard thing to get my mind around.

Dear Pregnant Ramones Shirt,

How dare you. There're 6.973 billion people in the world, more coming down the pike every hour, food riots and pandemics and tp rationing all over the place, everyone's struggling just to scare up a scrap of Soylent Green, and you sit there smugly in your storefront window, trying to convince kids it's "cool" to get pregnant? You're worse than Joe Camel and the Hitler Youth guys combined. Get a life, jerk.

Dear Comically Amateurish Obama Shirt and Hat(?),

Where are you now? Does someone, somewhere, still strut proudly in your candy cane assemblage of forgotten joy? Or have you been flung from attic to basement to yard sale to thrift store, forsaken by liberals who willfully ignored your centrist platforms during the campaign, deliberately downplayed your historic triumphs on health care, finance reform and economic recovery legislation, and whipped themselves up into a Ruplestiltskin tizzy fit just because you secured extension of jobless benefits for two million miserable, desperate Americans by striking a compromise with the Republicans instead of playing political chicken for the next two months and then having Bush tax cuts extended anyway by a hostile congress only now without the jobless benefits? Which is it?

Dear Bull Shit Shirt,

Hey, chief. I know, I know. I only wear you when all my other clothes are dirty. The thing is, you come on a little strong. Like if I'm at the food court at the mall. Maybe I was mad about high gas prices or something when I left the house - who the hell really remembers - but by lunch time I've kind of forgotten that I'm wearing a "message" shirt. Then everyone's staring at me and, well, it's uncomfortable. You understand, right? Don't worry. Soon enough, it'll be Mad Max times, and then it's going to be you and me all the way, bud. OK?

Dear Wall of Glow In The Dark Horse Shirts,

Take a good look at the hippie duds up top. The people who will wear you will someday have to fight the people who will wear them. Sure, there's more of them. Sure, they're probably made of sturdier materials and, yes, those materials are almost definitely less toxic than whatever weird inks and compounds make your gorgeous steeds glow in the dark. But you do glow in the dark. That gives you a notable advantage, and plenty of time to dangle about and figure out how to use it.