Don't try this at home, kids

Since my slowly healing wrist wound is now starting its FOURTH DAMN WEEK of preventing me from going to the gym, I’m wearing all my weird clothes that would normally get me beaten up by all the gymbrodudes.

To wit:

• My fancy-gay clingy plunging-V-neck shirt that says—in dramatic lettering—Provincetown, which is the High Nirvana Holy Land for vacationing gays who ride things called ferries without irony

• My jackass-plaid Bermuda shorts that I won in a game of Zima Pong against a frat boy named Blaine
• My Squared Moc Toe Exaggerated Profile Driving Shoes of Beyond Forgiveness
• Please don’t hit me