by Alphaville Herald on 07/06/10 at 12:23 pm
by Pappy Enoch, Alphaville Herald Fashion Desk
Since I are a fashion expert (I done found me the best set o’ clothes ever and don’t change ‘em, till they wears out) I got me some "ethos" (that am what a city feller said, but I punched him anyhow) on this-here subject.
Thank’ee, Mistopher Hamlet. I needed to make some money to git drunk so I done stole your idear.
Even if’n Pix won’t payin’ me, I had to have a gander at these boys, because even in my part of ol’ Virginny, them dang Hipsters am a-showin’ up. You know who they am. They gots them skinny ol’ dungarees on, a-peddlin’ them one-speed bisickles an’ wearin’ pork-pie hats. They drinks fancypants drinks like gimlets and Rob Roys and eats little ol’ horse-douvers like raw fish and smelly cheese, and never any real food that God made for human people to eat.
Most hipsters got so much ink on ‘em that you’d reckon the pen aisle at Staples done gone loco and run ‘em down for a scribble-fest or sum’fin.
So now them Hipsters done come to the fake world, too. It had to happen! But them racscals don’t know one thing: We hillbillies done invented irony. So here goes.
Now this feller here am *almost* Billy Badass. That hairdoo am pure Hillbilly psycho, a style I knows well. The jacket got itself a certain "flyaway" ellygance, but this boy needs to learn a couple things if’n he wants him a wild hillbilly gal (like my rotten sister, who I are anxious to git rid of).
1) Don’t hide no shootin’ iron behind yo’ back less’n it am little-bitty. A scattergun like the one he am totin’ do BEG to git pointed RITE at the camera.
B) Roll down them paytyloons, boy. This ain’t no clam-dig. Tuck ‘em into sum motorsickle boots an you’ll be nigh unto ol’ Marlon Brando who played Johnny frum "The Wild One."
Well, maybe that am a stretch for you, but a feller gots to have role models.
III) Put on some weight and don’t let the gals tear that-there shirt so much, less’n it are in the bedroom and y’all am tusslin’. Showin’ off chest-carpet done gone out o’ style in 1979.
Bein’ skinny am a general proberlum with the site, don’t you know. These boys couldn’t stand up to a stiff breeze, let alone the likes of my rotten horrible sister, Jezz Enoch.
Consider this feller, wearin’ a basket for a hat. What kind o’ rascal wears him sum’fin that dang dumb in public with them sassy Bermuda-short pantyloons? Hell, he’d not make it to the end of the sidewalk in Chilhowie on a Saturday night without needin’ to go the hospital.
And what in the hell am in his ears? Bottlecaps? Thank God I don’t git down to town more often. I might go on a shootin’ spree.
Okay, Slipsters! Y’all be warned. Next week I’ll cover some other wonderful aspect o’ fahsions in the fake world o’ Second Life.
PS from Jezz Enoch: Ol’ fat stuff done passed out from drinkin’ with the cornputer machine still on, so I wants to tell these skinny boys from down in the town how to git a gal, if’n that am what they am after. I ain’t sure o’ that, but just in case:
A) Wipe the dang smirks off’n them faces. I loves to punch a boy in the face when he whispers sweet nuffins like "I love your chainsaw," or "let’s git nekkid and shoot some rascal, then shag," but some faces cain’t be punched JUST one time. These faces am a-beggin’ for multiples.
And they ain’t the kind of face you wants to git nekkid with in the hayloft.
Two) Pappy am right. Don’t wear no bottlecaps in yo’ ears. Open a bottle with them teeth if’n you wants my love.
#3) Put on weight. I’d bust you up good shaggin’ don’t you know!
Maybe I should write up some o’ these-here fashion reviews, Miss Pixeleen. Pappy don’t know Calvin Klein from Calvinism.