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Howling our pants off (Barking Mad)

The nation's howling their pants off (in haughty derision).

Jac5 underwear will cure its wearer of obstipation and hemmorhoids. **See terms and conditions.


Just… no.


With every nation’s stocks plummeting down Satan’s pit of fiery greed, why would we need a new brand of luxury underwear? From Calvin Klein to Armani, Abercrombie & (B)itch to Ralph Lauren, and Victoria’s Secret back to … Calvin Klein, consumers don’t need to delegate their privates to another ‘up and coming’ bitch of a brand.

Has not the ‘age-old problems of itchy waistbands, uncomfortable fits, mediocre manufacturing, and products with a short life-span and no sex appeal’ already been resolved? Rhetorical - James Tudor already has. It is with no doubt pretentious for an ‘expanding’ (cheers to that, bitch), Asian brand to label their goods as key essential. Key essential is any ol’ Prada belt.

Side note: Uncle Tudor, if your Ad Researchers happen to stumble across this endearing commentary and decide to join The Force (oh Star Wars, how I’ve neglected you since I grew my first pube), I’d gladly receive a pair of those Sky Fall Front Briefs, hey.

“Kids ruin everything, I mean look at the stitching on this jacket” (Karen Walker, Will & Grace) – in this case, an overpriced pair of non-designer, boxer briefs.

So children, instead of buying a pair of Jac5’s, jack off instead! It’s free and probably won’t give you cancer.

But if you do have $40 to squander and have an aversion to looking like a republican, try a pair of these colorfully designed/colorful designer undies! They’re fab, they’re fresh, they’re barking mad.

**Terms and conditions: Wearer must be a mannequin. Just kidding. Jac5 is an actual brand featuring quirky and fashionable men’s luxury underwear, coming in a variety of neon colours, bone mosaic prints and bold waistbands. Anyone with an ounce of humour and creativity would recognize this blog post as a humourous elaboration of the brand's slogan - 'Luxury men’s underwear with a sense of humour'. If you're intelligent, buy a pair already. FREE INTERNATIONAL SHIPPING, GUYS. Jimmy A. Christopher, we’re still friends, right?


Splendour



Canada is the place to be.

Currently listening to "Stereo Hearts" by Gym Class Heroes [Feat. Adam Levine].

How To Be Good.






© Kris Kidd

Currently listening to "Somebody that I used to know" by Gotye [Feat. Kimbra].

Lions in Cages


Such a flurry of activity perhaps explains why it’s been a little while since I’ve posted anything worthwhile; it may as well be the lack of inspiration, motivation and discipline to sit down and write.

For me personally, the point in keeping an online journal is so that when I’m old and in need of nip-tuck, I can look back on this compendium of memories and reminisce.

Anyway, for future reference, at this point in time, it is my third week having been living alone in the city. I have hooked up with as many people as I can, and am enjoying freedom without responsibility. University is the least of my worries for the rest of the year.

All deviance aside, she was actually a saccharine Romanticist.

Currently listening to "Lions in Cages" by Wolf Gang.

Slovenly.


Axiomatically, Courtney Love is going to die from a drug overdose. Just like that guy smoking weed while walking to college is going to be run over by a bus. Ishiguro was right, these clones (clone: noun \ˈklōn\ knockoff: an unauthorized copy or imitation) are 'modelled from trash'.

If you've ever worn crocs, sport sandals or strapped phone holders onto your belt, please line up so I can shoot you between the eyes.

I am so grossed out. Just killed a fly and a bunch of tiny maggots flopped out of mother maggot... Sounds a bit like Stefani Germanotta's life story. Eliminate her, and out flop a bunch of tiny faggots. You're also left with this rotting carcass.

shhh...

What is love without lust?


In: Broad-minded freethinkers.
Out: Muslims. The Narrow-minded.

Overdue encapsulation of 2010


Facing up to reality and living up to expectations was never an intention of Le Garçon Particulièr. Throughout the succession of many of my discontinued web pages, one element remains through and through: the delight in blurring the boundaries between highbrow and lowbrow, the cerebral and the unscholarly, the class act and the downright crass. Esotericism does not exist (at least, not in these virtual confines).

In the beginning of 2010, things weren’t looking too peachy. Familial relationships were slowly nibbling away at my personal correspondences. And then the mind-numbingly boring ‘involvement’ with a chick dwarf occurred. And blew up, in my face. To this very day, I still don’t know what we were. I’m talking about the girl who’s slightly damaged goods and has painfully low self-esteem. How to land her: easy, just pay her some attention and a few half-sincere compliments. She’s so used to being shunned that just a wink and a smile and her panties will be half way to her knees. Exit strategy: I’ve considered this many times, and despite the fact that I didn’t perfect it, “I’m not really looking for anything serious right now, but you seemed so special, I couldn’t resist” w-c-ould work.

University work began to pile up (like the sidewalks of Paris during the mid-80’s with dog merde). And very much like the Frenchman’s utter obsession with smelling clean (‘L’Eau Serge Lutens’) than actually cleaning themselves, course work was just as superficial. By the end of the semester, notepads and textbooks were soaked in B, S & T.

Just a quick detour, I’m so glad our generation perceive clean as ‘Bleu de Chanel’ or ‘Colonia Essenza’ by Acqua di Parma. Apparently, manly + cleanly used to be ‘Kouros’ by Yves Saint Laurent, which smells, and I mean this quite literally, like a Frenchman’s armpit plus his underwear after a hot August day.

Then there was my birthday, which was completely disregarded due to 8 exams that week (and a bad memory). I woke up that day, had an exam, continued the week, woke up some other day, and realised I was a year older. Colon-capital-oh.

At the end of the year, besides attempting to catch up on late-night study-induced jetlag, I was also trying to worm my way out of Christian camp. Both endeavours were about as successful as Lindsay Lohan’s alcohol-monitoring bracelet.

Amongst these above-mentioned events were trivial clock-tickers like bad haircuts, procrastination, lazy Sunday potheading, study table graffitiing (yes, I am a total bad-ass) and… not a whole lot else.

So I’m not sure how I want 2011 to grow. It’s already February and not much has happened. I want everything to happen yet nothing to happen at all. I want to stay this way yet transform into a better person. Paradoxical, but I guess without my inherent ironies, I’d be just another guy in an ill-fitting suit.

Paraphernalia.
Because I can.