A thought! Suicide Girls are the only twenty-first century girls who don't wear Uggs.
That, newsflash, is hot!
Don't get me wrong, I love all those suburban girls, like the ones I used to go to school with, who come into the city love handled and thong-stuffed into their rinsed citzensofhumanitypaperdenimseven's and bumble and bounce around calf deep in those furry little monsters. But for every tall skinny starlet fashionably frozen on the pages of some pocket-sized girl-mag, the phenomenon explodes exponentially until it rapidly surpasses cute little wannabe princesses and ends up making fashion victims of those just trying to fit.
Perhaps the trend is on the wane if never to be totally mend. What's wrong with butchering language for a rhyme now and again? Actually, I am sure they are quite practical. I imagine they keep little city piggies super-toasted.
Let's celebrate the coming of some unforseen fashion trend! (In fact, I too read those girl-mags, but not closely enough to tell you where we are going).
Now here it is, last night I left my apartment for all of five minutes. Near zero (actual low temp 19F), I rounded the corner and passed the beer hall. I have no idea why I brushed my teeth, I would only utter a few words to the Latino checkout girl at the market. Why didn't I stop, turn, and approach you? We were outside a beer hall and next to a bus stop, the night's possibilities were endless. It was cold, you looked warm, blonde, and full. I turn my head often, maybe you do too? It's easy to turn your head, or watch, when you don't think you'll be found out... Were you waiting for my... Shit, I'm a terrible lead, unless I know the dance.
Fuck, I walked around the market, picked up a roll of paper towels, a jug of water, fought with my conscience and thought about running down the street. I'll be out there tonight, it's supposed to be colder and my girlfriend is coming home late. Maybe I'll say, "I'm not real into blonde's, I don't smoke, I have a girlfriend, and I'm over your Uggs."
Here's a SG challenge: You and nothing but Uggs.
That, newsflash, is hot!
Don't get me wrong, I love all those suburban girls, like the ones I used to go to school with, who come into the city love handled and thong-stuffed into their rinsed citzensofhumanitypaperdenimseven's and bumble and bounce around calf deep in those furry little monsters. But for every tall skinny starlet fashionably frozen on the pages of some pocket-sized girl-mag, the phenomenon explodes exponentially until it rapidly surpasses cute little wannabe princesses and ends up making fashion victims of those just trying to fit.
Perhaps the trend is on the wane if never to be totally mend. What's wrong with butchering language for a rhyme now and again? Actually, I am sure they are quite practical. I imagine they keep little city piggies super-toasted.
Let's celebrate the coming of some unforseen fashion trend! (In fact, I too read those girl-mags, but not closely enough to tell you where we are going).
Now here it is, last night I left my apartment for all of five minutes. Near zero (actual low temp 19F), I rounded the corner and passed the beer hall. I have no idea why I brushed my teeth, I would only utter a few words to the Latino checkout girl at the market. Why didn't I stop, turn, and approach you? We were outside a beer hall and next to a bus stop, the night's possibilities were endless. It was cold, you looked warm, blonde, and full. I turn my head often, maybe you do too? It's easy to turn your head, or watch, when you don't think you'll be found out... Were you waiting for my... Shit, I'm a terrible lead, unless I know the dance.
Fuck, I walked around the market, picked up a roll of paper towels, a jug of water, fought with my conscience and thought about running down the street. I'll be out there tonight, it's supposed to be colder and my girlfriend is coming home late. Maybe I'll say, "I'm not real into blonde's, I don't smoke, I have a girlfriend, and I'm over your Uggs."
Here's a SG challenge: You and nothing but Uggs.