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Genius by birth, slacker by choice

I’m getting tired of guys in their 30s and beyond being categorized as immature boys because they prefer to wear t-shirts and jeans to anything else. They’re ridiculed especially hard if they wear t-shirts with sayings on them. What the fuck is so wrong with that wardrobe? Is it too casual? Hell, I wear jeans and t-shirts with sayings on them every. single. day. The pictured t-shirt is one of mine. I like comfortable and casual clothes, so it’s no surprise that I prefer a guy to dress that way.

I can appreciate a guy in a suit but I’m not impressed with a guy who dresses sharply all the time. It’s just not visually appealing to me. But apparently guys who do dress that way are more mature and desirable than their casual counterparts. Well, fuck that. Clothes really do not make the man. Of course, they don’t make the woman, either. I’m not impressed with anyone who is really into clothes. It bores me. It’s bad enough when a woman is, but a guy who is a clothes horse? Yeah, not getting fucked by me. I suppose I could make an exception if I really dug him as a person, but it would be one of those things I’d have to compromise on.

Of course, it’s not just males that are ragged on for wearing t-shirts with sayings. I know a lot of people turn their noses down on anyone who wears them. I’ve loved them since I was young. I couldn’t afford them when I was younger, but oh how I fervently wished I could.

I once took a plain white shirt and wrote a saying on it with magic marker. I had the first part of the saying on the front, like this: Fighting for Peace is Like… And then the back said: Fucking for Chastity. I loved it back then, but now that I’m older I think it’s a stupid saying. But then I think war is sometimes a necessity. Anyway, one day when I was in my early 20s, I was staying with a friend and she had to call the cops on this whacked, creepy dude who tried to force his way into her place. We had been meaning to leave before this happened and once the cops left we headed toward her car. Well, one of the cops was still around and I was wearing the aforementioned shirt. He saw the words on the front, stopped to read them, and my friend goaded me into taking off my jacket and showing the rest. Well, I did just that, a little worried about how he’d take the profanity. Thankfully he just read it, shook his head, and went on his way.

I now own 30 or so t-shirts with either sayings on them and/or cool images. One of my favorite t-shirt places is, unfortunately, expensive as hell so I own only one t-shirt by them. The place is called T-Shirt Hell and if you’re easily offended, don’t click the link. Their shirts are generally extremely warped and highly (and I mean highly) offensive. Some are so wrong that although I find them funny, I wouldn’t dare wear them in public. My balls just aren’t that big. By the way, if you visit that site and are then offended by what you see, do not fucking whine or bitch to me about how offensive the shirts are. I don’t give a fuck what you think is offensive. In fact, I’m offended that you’re even offended.

Just as I was gearing up to end this post, I realized that I’d written about my love for this type of t-shirt before on the old blog. Ah, well. It’s not exactly a repeat. Besides, this post is already written and I’m not about to delete it now.

The moral of this post is, if you want to fuck me or get fucked by me, dress casually or, better yet, just be naked. Oh, and quit hating on guys who wear jeans and t-shirts. Or girls for that matter.

The title of this post is taken from–you guessed it–one of my t-shirts.

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