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I have serious fucking beef with a certain pair of shorts that plague college towns across the nation. The motherfuckin’ Nike wind short. I am confronted with their retardedness on a daily basis and I think it’s about time some asshole stands up and says that this atrocious attire is a buncha bullshit that should be worn ONLY while running in the fucking wind. I am prepared that asshole.
As if I wasn’t hatin’ on enough UT sorority girls enough as is, they decided to be the majority of the dumb fucks who shell out the $30 for a pair of fucking athletic shorts. Bitch, please. $30 isn’t even a dent in their weekly coke allowance. These cunts come from money, and not “my dad is an up and coming graphic designer” money. We’re talking old money here. These fuckwads have been rich forever. This is exactly why I am baffled by these bitches. If they have so much money, why do they dress like shit? For real, I’m as broke as O.J. Simpson and I can still put a slammin’ outfit together.
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Ugh, and every time I go around campus, it’s a Nike wind shorts infestation. One time when I was in the area in the morning, I seriously thought I was losing my shit because there were literally rows and rows of identical bitches walking to class, wearing the exact same thing. Waking and baking probably wasn’t the best idea for a late morning trip to campus when that is what you find there. I got so fucking paranoid that I convinced myself that the government had created a whole army of clone whores just to give me the stink eye at stoplights, because that’s right bitch, I drive a motherfucking Ford escort that idles like a space shuttle and has a dangly side view mirror. Fucking whatever. At least my dad actually loves me. Although, I must admit, if I had a stupid slut uniform that could be worn daily, I could conserve the rest of my creativity for choosing what oversized frat party shirt to pair with my bleach blond side pony-tail and ridiculous amount of bronzer. Oh, wait…
The fucked up thing though, is that I recently became what I loathe the most, an owner of a pair of the unholy shorts. Hear me out though. I am about to take a trip to Central America and thought that I might actually do some running… in the wind. So technically I bought them for their exact purpose, and not because no one would recruit me during rush week if I didn’t own a pair. Also, my mom agreed to pay for a few things for my trip, the shorts being one of the items, so really, I didn’t spend any money on them myself. It’s probably not helping my argument that my mommy bought me things to make me happy, but fuck it.
What I wasn’t prepared for though, when I shamefully purchased the fuckers, was the garment-induced identity crisis that followed. There were seriously a few days after that where I would just look in the mirror and think, “Who the fuck am I?” That shit made me feel all weird inside, so I decided to get rid of the yucky feeling by returning the wind shorts. It was like finally wiggling loose that piece of popcorn kernel that’s been stuck behind your back molar for a week. Sweet relief. I was my old, scathing, self again. And holy shit, is it good to be back.