The jacket is perfect. It is warm and comfortable. It is reasonably price.
It also screams "TYLER DURDEN".
That might not strike most of you as a problem, but I am the boy who once spent a week watching the Fight Club DVD endlessly, pausing only to go to the gym or gorge on protein shakes.
Tyler Durden became a personal saint for me.
("I look like you want to look, I fuck how you want to fuck. I am smart strong and capable, all the things you are not.")
Tyler Durden became a focus for all my militant tendencies. When I eventually got through school and entered a period of introspection and self doubt, drifting through menial unskilled jobs in a directionless haze, Tyler Durden became an example of action and purpose.
He also became a substiture for any form of real personality I might have developed.
("Tyler's words, coming out of my mouth.")
Fight Club was a phase I eventually outgrew. I can watch the film comfortably now, without having to supress the urge to fight a total stranger in a carpark.
All the same, I can feel the old impulses stir as I look at myself in the fitting room mirror. I look fucking good in the jacket. But then, I look fucking good in everything.
Go Team Natural Athleticism.
The Pretty Girls outside the changing room smile and nod fiercely when I ask their opinion. It suits me, I am told. I look good. I should buy it.
I'm in Brighton. Pretty girls said that I needed to be cheered up. Later I will be coerced into watching Harry Potter and the Clumsy Exposition, which I argue is pretty much the total opposite of cheering me up, but for now I'm happy enough carry shopping and offering advice on shoes and pretty dresses.
One of my many talents is an ability to dispense concise and high quality advice on fashion in my role as 'Gay Best Friend.'
It makes a nice change from 'Ceaseless Engine Of Macho Rage'.
I quite like Brighton, it's basically London by the Sea. Also, lots of Pretty Girls. Yay.
Back home now, mulling things over and reading 2000AD. Glory in the geekiness.
The cheering up turned out to be pretty erroneous, things with troublesome females begining to sort themselves out once I laid something of an ultimatum down.
Whatever happens, we'll still be friends. PAUL WINS AGAIN.
I leave with a question - What were you lot up to at half three this sunday afternoon?
It also screams "TYLER DURDEN".
That might not strike most of you as a problem, but I am the boy who once spent a week watching the Fight Club DVD endlessly, pausing only to go to the gym or gorge on protein shakes.
Tyler Durden became a personal saint for me.
("I look like you want to look, I fuck how you want to fuck. I am smart strong and capable, all the things you are not.")
Tyler Durden became a focus for all my militant tendencies. When I eventually got through school and entered a period of introspection and self doubt, drifting through menial unskilled jobs in a directionless haze, Tyler Durden became an example of action and purpose.
He also became a substiture for any form of real personality I might have developed.
("Tyler's words, coming out of my mouth.")
Fight Club was a phase I eventually outgrew. I can watch the film comfortably now, without having to supress the urge to fight a total stranger in a carpark.
All the same, I can feel the old impulses stir as I look at myself in the fitting room mirror. I look fucking good in the jacket. But then, I look fucking good in everything.
Go Team Natural Athleticism.
The Pretty Girls outside the changing room smile and nod fiercely when I ask their opinion. It suits me, I am told. I look good. I should buy it.
I'm in Brighton. Pretty girls said that I needed to be cheered up. Later I will be coerced into watching Harry Potter and the Clumsy Exposition, which I argue is pretty much the total opposite of cheering me up, but for now I'm happy enough carry shopping and offering advice on shoes and pretty dresses.
One of my many talents is an ability to dispense concise and high quality advice on fashion in my role as 'Gay Best Friend.'
It makes a nice change from 'Ceaseless Engine Of Macho Rage'.
I quite like Brighton, it's basically London by the Sea. Also, lots of Pretty Girls. Yay.
Back home now, mulling things over and reading 2000AD. Glory in the geekiness.
The cheering up turned out to be pretty erroneous, things with troublesome females begining to sort themselves out once I laid something of an ultimatum down.
Whatever happens, we'll still be friends. PAUL WINS AGAIN.
I leave with a question - What were you lot up to at half three this sunday afternoon?
VIEW 5 of 5 COMMENTS
johnnyforeigner:
It was Epic 40k: Final Liberation for the PC. I love that game 
johnnyforeigner:
Warlords, Reavers and Warhounds 
Gargants too. The only problem is, it's so old, it won't run on XP- we can only play it because one of my mate's computers has Windows 98 on it.
Gargants too. The only problem is, it's so old, it won't run on XP- we can only play it because one of my mate's computers has Windows 98 on it.