Just pull your fucking pants up so we don’t have to see your ass.. I’m not talking about those of you who just need a belt, I am talking to those of you who can’t seem to get your pants pulled up past your knees. Yes, you, I am talking to you. Normally I find seeing some dumb fucktard with his pants around his knees very humorous, I might even giggle out loud where I can be heard, but nonetheless I find humor in your failure to wear your clothes in a proper manner while in public. Bit who am I, I am not the fashion police, I just have a little common sense when dressing myself and try very hard not to let the family jewels swing out in public. Why? Because I give a shit about what I look like when I walk out my front door, even if I am going to Walmart. Well, Scorp,what are you trying to get across here? My point is that nobody, and I mean nobody, wants to see your pants down at your knees, ever. A simple, yet often overlooked, point in our society. I don’t know how it is where you live but it is a common sight to see in the youth and young adults around here. What brings all of this up? Hold your pants up people I am getting to that right now.
Earlier today I was visiting a local flea market to kill some time and to see if I could buy something that could raise an eyebrow on my wife’s face. I don’t always get things that impress her if you must know, so now we have this little inside joke about it when I go out alone. As I meandered around the market I saw the good, the bad, and the ugly, sometimes all rolled up in one thing. Not much really tickled my tail feathers so I moved about in a quicker fashion than normal, I wasn’t hunting, I was fishing, but without a real and direct purpose. Then, out of the corner of my squintly little eye I see this jackass giving a shop owner some grief. Allot of yelling and cussing on his part as he tried to make his point. But let’s back up a bit, let’s give you a chance to see what I was seeing. The shop sold leather goods of all sorts, western style furniture, and some western style antiques. The shop owner, looking 50ish, appears to be of Korean descent but I could be wrong because everything I heard heard her say out loud was in English with no real discernible accent. The man, late teens to early twenties, was white, and dressed like an early eighties gang banger flaunting his “colors” everywhere possible. Crisp white wife beater tank top, dark color boxer shorts, and nylon jogging pants with the waistband straddling his knees. When I say he was white, I mean dayglow vampire he never sees daylight white. He hurt my sensitive eyes when I looked at him and there was a glare, like that glare that comes when the sun hits the windshield of my truck in late afternoon, yes, he was that white. After I got nosey and started listening in I was struck to find out that she was refusing to let him come inside unless he pulled his pants up. He demanded it is a free country he lives in and he has the right to come and go as he pleases without being harassed by some old bitch selling country shit nobody buys. The question in my head was wanting to ask then why do you want to go in. Why? Form this very reason, to be able to make a scene or his need to be seen being the scene, whichever.
Normally I would keep my big fat mouth closed and laugh at this ass clown on the inside. However, my fucktard detector was pegging out and I really wanted to go into that little shop. So I approached, I spoke very clearly when I told him “excuse me, I would like to get by you so I may go in the store”. His return reply was ” hey cracker, go fuck yourself somewhere else ’cause I’m about to lite this bitch right here on flames”. Ummmmm? So I became a wee bit more aggressive and explained (while showing him my very impressive .50 cal Desert Eagle twins) that him leaving would be the best choice he had made all day. I think I scared him, because I looked down below the thugs fleets and saw he was standing in a puddle that wasn’t there moments ago. I cannot confirm or deny where the puddle came from but it wasn’t raining and nothing was spilled. A few other like minded people stepped up, grabbed him rather roughly, and helped him on his way expeditiously. Man, I love it when bikers jump into a fight! Bikers don’t fuck around when there are ass whippings to have. Unless, they are like doctor or lawyer weekend lawyers, then they are worried about their nails and their own fashion. Pussies. Wannabes. Anyway, it ended with out incident. OK, the punk kid was right, she was selling overpriced reproductions and knock offs that really was cheap shit, even by my standards.
The moral of the story boys and girls is to just pull your fucking pants up so the waistband is around your fucking waist. Its not rocket science,I am not asking you to provide me with tangible evidence that sasquach exists, I don’t need to know how the whole jackalope thing got started, just pull up your fucking pants. It isfor your safety and for ours. So, suck it up princess, bend over and pull up your pants. On a serious note, no thugs were hurt in my immediate vicinity that was visible to me. By the way, some woman was stupid enough to stick her finger in the puddle and return a sample to her nose, her expert opinion was that it was piss. Bonus. And for the rest of y’all, never stick your finger in an unknown puddle to smell or taste. Ewww, its just not smart in any way, at all, and really disgusting as well. So, did I buy anything? Yes, a full on ice cream in one of them there sugary waffle cones. It was vanilla, no topping, no frills, and no sprinkles. And the dicey cold sugary greatness was divine. First full flavor with sugar ice cream I have had in 2 years and it was fucking outstanding Private Pyle!