Archive for Stupid

Friends Don’t Let Friends Wear Crocs.

Posted in Random Shit That Gives Me The Cunt with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on July 20, 2008 by Buck Frain

 

There are lines that cannot be crossed. There are circumstances that require definitive action, that demand you take a stand in the name of all you hold dear. I had to take that stand this weekend. A dear, long-time school friend visited Melbourne. We rarely catch up and I was excited, we went out for beer as is our wont. He turned up in Crocs.

 

I ordered a jug of beer. I poured, we cheersed. Eye contact. Hmm…I looked at his feet again. Pale blue plastic special shoes. I couldn’t let it go.

What the fuck are they?

 

He laughed.

You like ‘em?

No. Seriously, are they yours?

Maybe he’s borrowed them. Maybe someone stole his real shoes…

Yeah. They’re really comfortable.

Cunt! What have you done with Harry? Who the fuck are you?

 

They are the fuckedest footwear in the history of the world, I would rather have my legs cut off than wear them. They’re cuntfully ugly, they are completely anti-fashion, they are everything that is wrong with the world. When The Four Horsemen Of The Apocalypse come at the end of days they’ll be wearing Crocs, they’ll have shit-eating grins plastered all over their skeletal faces and they’ll be saying things like: They’re really comfortable, party’s over folks!

 

This is the line. This far and no further. But, I didn’t stand up. I didn’t have the heart. Sometimes you just have to walk away. I had a polite but short evening with Harry. The beer just didn’t taste right. I didn’t bother berating him on the Crocs, there was no point, he’s one of them now. I just left and deleted his number from my mobile phone. Harry is not my friend anymore. He can’t be because he wears Crocs. Anything I may once have loved in that man, every part of our friendship, died the moment he put on those aesthetically abhorrent pieces of shit.

 

Why do I hate Crocs, you ask? They are not real shoes. It’s that simple. They are toys. Real shoes come in many shapes, sizes and colours but they all have something in common. You can’t have a shit in them and just hose it out. I mean, you can, but there will be evidence of it. There will be something, even microscopic that would to the trained eye tell you that the shoes had been shat in. Crocs, no. Shit in them whenever you like, it just hoses out. That is NOT right and I can’t engage with anyone who lives in that world so GET FUCKED!!!

 

According to this article, if you’re a Croc wearing fuck-waste, you can highlight the visibility of your lobotomised shitness by decorating your crocs with all manner of colourful banality, flowers, butterflies, cocker spaniels, you name it I’ll stab your fuckin’ eyes out with it because you cast a shadow of hopelessness and arseful fuckedness on my species and I would sooner nuke the whole planet than see this rankness go any further.

 

According to this pile of dog shit, Crocs also are now are the medically endorsed footwear for people with type 2 diabetes. Not so fuckin’ cool now, are they? Yet another reason to despise Crocs.

Hey, are you fat as a house? Is your skeleton crumbling under the weight of your chronic over-indulgence in clown food? Why don’t you squeeze your bloated stumps into some fuckin’ rubbery clown shoes?

 

Crocs – you’re a fat cunt anyway, you can’t see your feet, why should you give a fuck what other people think?

 

Crocs – because suicide requires strength of character!

 

The harsh reality is that we all deteriorate with age. Gradually we lose our edge and become blurry, softened shadows of our former selves. It’ll happen to me one day too, I’m under no illusions, but hopefully there’ll be someone ready to strike me down with a cricket bat and dash my brains out if I ever start wearing Crocs. It’s the same as those hideous middle aged couples who dress in identical non-gender specific beige K-mart outfits, it’s unnecessary and unbearably shit. It shows that you no longer have an individual identity. You’ve fuckin’ lost it! When people lose their grip on reality to this extent it is time to kill them. I’ll miss you, Harry, you were my friend but now you’re just a fuckwit.

You’re fuckin’ ORANGE, cockface!

Posted in Wankers In Denial with tags , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , on May 22, 2008 by Buck Frain

I’ve been seeing them everywhere today. I don’t know whether it’s the sudden cooler weather that makes them yearn for the illusion of summer, or whether I’ve just been oblivious of late, but they’re back – the orange people. Not the cult, I mean the fake tan fuck-wits.

 

They’re easier to spot than toupees, for fuck’s sake. It’s mostly women but occasionally you see an orange man, usually a metro-gym-junkie. Fake tan! What the dick-cheese-sandwich are you thinking? Are you colour blind? You are bright orange. Your fucking skin is orange. People aren’t naturally orange, of all the many beautiful colours people come in orange is not one. Orange screams fake. It howls at the top of its lungs to everyone with sight: Look at me, I’m a pasty white fuck-waste who’s ridiculously self-conscious about my skin colour and has absolutely no self-awareness whatsoever. I’m shit! Throw rocks at me! STAB ME!! I’M FUCKED!!!

 

I fucking hate it. It’s absurd, and they just act like they just got back from Bali and no-one realises that it’s not real, even when they’re wearing a sleeveless top and the orange has sweated off to reveal white armpits. Orange is a fruit. FUCKING HAVE A LOOK AT YOURSELF!!! It’s just fuckin’ stupid, it looks like orange dirt. Go home, scrub yourself clean, put on some decent boots, kick the living shit out of yourself and repeat 100 times Everyone knows I’m not really orange.