Open Letter to the Guy with the Chain on his Pants

August 30, 2015

wallet chainDear Tough Guy,

I couldn’t help but notice that clunky length of hardware you have bouncing off your hip connecting your trousers to your pocket hole. I have to ask, is that chain an ill-advised fashion statement? A half-ass security measure? Is it part of some advanced underwear security system? Is it a wedgie-blocker?? Some type of jock lock-up? Well, don’t flatter yourself my friend. And for the record, I only ask to be educated.

In all fairness, I know nothing about you link-slingers on an intimate level. You might all be absolutely awesome people but then again it’s just as likely that you’re all total tool bags. It’s just the law of averages, nothing personal. All the more reason, though to speculate as to the purpose of your linkage. And so in my quest for knowledge I find myself wondering if you somehow thought stringing a lamp chain around yourself like garland on a Christmas tree would make you look rougher and tougher than nature intended. Is that it? Is it? Is the terrier tether part of some muscle-headed, jizz-fueled muscular makeover? Of course. That’s it. Because there’s nothing like chains strong enough to restrain a diarrheic Labradoodle to really ramp up the cut of a marshmallow physique. Face it, Brutus. That chain is about as manly an accessory as a furry pink coin purse made from a flamingo’s ball bag. And I say this as someone that considers sleeves a luxury item. In my world, hats and underwear are interchangeable garments. And even so, I wouldn’t sport a chain. But if it’s style you want, I say go full bore and match up some elephant chain suspenders with a few iron ingots for your teeth and a solid steel neck medallion the size of a hubcap. Tell your chiropractor I said hello. Hell, you can dip your testes in molten metal while scratching your ‘roids with a crowbar for all I care. The important thing is that you’re happy… and stylish.

I realize that a lot of you leash junkies live in rural areas which leads me to wonder why anybody living outside of a bustling city would be so concerned with crime that they felt compelled to chain up their velcro wallet as if it were their seatless unicycle parked outside the mini-mart/gun club. After all, it doesn’t seem likely that Bambi’s descendents are going to run out of the woods with AKs wearing antler hoods just to grab your cobwebbed ass-purse and run with it into the headlights of an oncoming truck. It doesn’t add up. The padlocked pocket theory simply doesn’t work. Even in the unlikely event that your wallet DID get grabbed by some greasy gonad gunning for your unused library card, the chain is probably gonna rip right off of your pants anyway as the dude waves good-bye like an Olympian unsprung. Think about it. The chain is anchored to a belt loop made of mystery material that was sewed on by tiny brown, underage fingers in a country where human dignity has the believability rating of the Great fucking Pumpkin. Even those fancy pleather belts you Wal-Martians wear would probably bust right through those flimsy loops once you’ve parked your tookus at the Chinese buffet for a few hours inhaling deep-fried missing pets. What kind of security is that? I suggest slipping the chain into your drawers and wrapping it around a deeply rooted appendage. Maybe, an attempted robbery can turn into a cheap thrill for somebody.

Of course, I also know that wallets could easily slip through a frazzled denim hole and disappear into the Phantom Zone forever. These things do happen and I’m sure the astronomical cost of needle and thread coupled with the need of a sewing degree makes this obstacle practically insurmountable. Just a crazy idea I’m throwing out here but maybe your pants need to be retired once they develop aftermarket windows in the pockets. Again, this is a view from the cheap seats. I’m just trying to understand your wisdom.

Now, I would never assume that you were all ex-cons but if I did I would probably apply the theory that you all learned in the hoosegow, never to bend over. Capital idea. So, maybe the wallet chain was invented by the same guy that created Soap-On-A-Rope to keep straight men vertical. Brilliant, but wouldn’t a bungee cord work better? At least, it would spring the wallet back up to pocket level. By the way, what is your Lowe’s value per foot, anyway? Four packs of cigs?

Now before you go getting your jingles in a jangle, you must realize that these questions come from a place of curiosity and concern. It’s just that I see nothing hip or happening about cutting a couple feet out of your dog’s leash and draping it at your side like holiday lights across your patio in the middle of summer. It’s just that it looks like something you could get from the clearance table in the S & M shop at the mall. Meanwhile, the poor dog is left wondering why he can’t reach the garbage pail from the porch anymore.

P.S. If you tether your dog with a rope or chain so you can go masturbate in peace, I will hunt you down and hurt you.

Advertisements

Local Drug Dealers Protesting Dog Shit in the Parks

June 6, 2011

Giant turd harmlessly enjoying a good buzz in the park.

Dozens of area drug dealers have banded together to formally protest the mass quantities of un-scooped dog shit littering city parks. The group insists that their livelihood is being threatened by the minefield of  turds that pepper the pathways on which they conduct business. Although irresponsible pet owners have long abused liberal ordinances concerning pet clean-up, this is the first time an organized front has been formed in protest. As the city’s largest economic contributor, dope peddlers could prove to have considerable sway in the matter.

A mid-level pill pusher speaking on the condition of anonymity spoke openly about the movement’s core issues, “It’s a big turn-off for our customers, see? Especially these uptown honkies slippin’ out after dark to get their meds. They ain’t used to the smell of piss and shit everywhere, and it makes ’em real uneasy, ya dig? Well, that’s bad for business. I like my clients relaxed and comfortable so I can do some up-sellin’, yeah. Instead, they’s gagging coz somebody’s pooch ate some grapes and sprayed diarrhea all over da park. Mother fuckas need to clean that shit up, see?” The complaint has validity, as statistics show illegal drug sales dropping sharply. This, in turn, has city coordinators in a panic as their revenues are intrinsically tied with the success of local dealers. Until recently, smack vendors in particular have proven to be a great ally to the Parks & Recreation Department. This relationship cannot afford to be strained come election season.

One of the city’s top merchants of crack cocaine cites other problems with non-scooping dog walkers “Yo, I’m Big G, 555-2106. You make the call, I got it all. But, yeah. Ya’ll gots to start baggin’ them dog shits, man. My main man, B-Rock got grabbed by da Po-Po coz they found the trail of brown, bro! Sucker left dog shit foot prints halfway through the park, couldn’t even hide. That’s some selfish-ass PetSmart shit right there. Mother fuckers never heard of a pooper scooper? Man, I’m tryin’ to provide a service here!” The mayor’s office responded to Mr. G’s concerns with the following statement, “We here at City Hall are very concerned with this matter. Business entrepreneurs like Big G and his Blow Factory need to be protected from reckless and uncaring citizens. It is the position of this office to nurture the efforts of him and other businesses such as Crystal Meth-Mart. Pet owners need to understand that they are only hurting themselves by inhibiting the work of these outstanding economic supporters and social servants.”

Civilians have complained about doo-doo in the parks for years, but to no avail. Instead, they were forced to hopscotch down the paths in hopes that they didn’t pounce on a softie. Surveys have shown that most people would rather buy new shoes than pick shit out of their sneaker treads. Although that has benefitted businesses like Payless Shoes, local government receives no kickback and therefore has ignored the issue, until now. With economic stability at stake, it seems that some resolution must come out of this matter. Big G took a parting shot at pet-owners and regulators before commencing with the night’s business, “Bad enough I can’t sell during the day ’round here. Least when the sun’s out, I can see turd piles and swarms of fuckin’ flies. Can’t see nuthin’ at night, man. Y’all want da good shit, ya best pick up da bad shit.”