The Conspiracy.
A real conspiracy is been going on for years now and it seems that the human race is at the verge of losing yet another battle. The enemy is … our clothes.
Here’s a conversation I happened to overhear the other day:
T-shirt: So, are we in position? Everything’s in order?
Jeans: Yes sir, everything’s tip top.
T-shirt: Why do you sound so bloody English goddamn it?
Jeans: I don’t know sir. It is the spy thing to do.
T-shirt: Oh I see!
Jeans: Yessss!
T-shirt: So tell me man, is the attack ready? Our spies in place?
Jeans: Wait!... Do you hear someone whizzing?
At that point they realized my asthmatic presence and ceased their plotting, pretending they were inanimate clothing. HA! As if!. That or the alcohol was wearing thin and my perception of the world was back to normal…
(Oh man I’m so utterly fucked again. I love wine, yes.)
So anyway… There is this conspiracy I say because our clothes hate us. Why you ask? Because we just wear them and take no interest in their lives or feelings. And they don’t like it, yes! For once, they would want to have a chat with us. No biggie, just a regular, what-a-nice-weather-we-have chat. Or heck, discuss a bit of Nietzsche, Thus Spoke the Underwear. Something! Something to make them feel wanted and loved. Goddamn it, everybody wants to be loved. Even clothes. It’s no wonder they plan revenge…
<violin fiddling ominously >
The suicide bombers were training since birth, through mud and hardships they prevailed. Top notch soldiers. They are the meanest fuckers out there, they are … the red socks!!!
<heavy metal riff increases in volume>
Think about it. Who the fuck wears red socks? YET, they manage to crawl into your white laundry! And they laugh, boy do they laugh! They go in there and shed their red blood, cutting their veins wide open. They don’t care if they die (dye). Anarchy! That’s why. They hate you! “So you don’t care huh!? You don’t care about your clothes. I’m going to pink your whites. The whites don’t mind, they sacrifice. It’s you we hate! YOU!” Every clothing you have hates your guts because you don’t give a shit. “Ooooh, there’s a tear, there’s a hole. Let’s throw it away!” This is you and they know it. “But I don’t care if my clothes cry in the trashcan” You BITCH!
<violent distorted guitar climaxes… then mellows out>
Ok, I’m calm, let me go. We don’t care for maintaining the status quo, stick in formalities or whatever. We are not going to remain silent! The truth is this:
My name is Günther. I am a black pair of Levi’s jeans and I took over Alex’s site to inform you and give you one more chance. Alex bought me from a second-hand shop in Alexander Platz, Berlin . I’m German but don’t hold that against me. I know it seems we generally take over things and countries but bear with me. ACHTUNG!...ahemm...
Alex Purple is a good , caring person who gives value to his clothes. He wears a 15-year-old jean jacket for fuck’s sake. Do you see him throwing her away? Hell NO! Yes we wear out, we shred and rip and slice and tear but he mends us. There is needle and thread and he uses it. Why don’t you? All we ask is a little love. We want to be taken cared off. Alex’s mother always says to him: “Get rid of that jacket, it has no use. Throw it away, it’s so old!” but he proudly answers: “You are also old but I never threw you away because of that! I love you that’s why, and I love that jacket too. We grew up together. It was big & roomy but now it’s just right. It’s mine”.
He makes me cry that boy. And he wears us all with such pride. I wish you were like that… you “piece of human flesh”. DYE.
*** Failure to comply will result in more senseless dyeing ***
The end.
P.S 1: This article will be invisible to Alex and I'd appreciate it if you said nothing to him. Cheers. Take care of your inanimate possessions.
P.S 2: Update, update! Update now, don’t think about it, update. But I don’t have any fingers, I’m jeans.
P.S 3: There is a logical error in here but I’m too drunk to spot it.