Look at this edgy T-shirt I got on the Internet. It refers to that movie everybody saw, where the comedian everybody likes said the thing everybody laughed at. I’m a bold outsider with a bad attitude, somebody who chooses to self-identify with the kind of independent oddballs who bring in over $250 million in domestic box-office receipts. I don’t conform to the masses; I march to the beat of the drummer that everybody went to see last June, or rented from Netflix in October. When I wear this shirt, everybody will know that they’d better watch out, because I have the capacity to be mildly offensive to people who fall outside the primary viewing demographic for mainstream comedies rated PG-13.
And I’ll tell you something else; I didn’t have to order my clever Internet T-shirt from my mother’s basement, where my computer is. No, I can order T-shirts wherever I am, whenever I want, because I have an awesome smartphone. I bet you’ve never seen a phone like this, since only the world’s fifty million hippest people have them. Do you know how elite that makes me? Well, there are six billion people on the planet, so you do the math. Oh, wait; you can’t because your phone doesn’t have a calculator app. Face! Let me tell you, dude, you can’t just walk into any cell phone store and get a phone like this. It’s only available from one exclusive carrier. And at Best Buy.
By the way, have you heard that song that was in the movie my shirt references, and has been on the radio nonstop for the past year and-a-half, and was on that TV show everybody watches, and is also in all those commercials for premium fish sandwiches at that fast-food restaurant? As a fixture on the local music scene, I’ve heard that song, and I love it. It’s the ringtone on my smartphone. Does your phone have MP3 ringtones, by the way? Didn’t think so.
If the Internet made a T-shirt about that song, I would wear the holy heck out of it, because I totally feel where that singer is coming from. Unlike most people who lead anesthetized lives of post-consumerist bliss, I have been in that place that the popular singer is talking about. I have stood on the edge of utmost despair, at the precipice of the dark and throbbing night. I gazed into that profound abyss. That song spoke to me in ways regular people can’t possibly understand. It touched the very core of my soul.
And that premium fish sandwich is awesome as well, so I can see why that singer would endorse such an excellent product. I would not hesitate to wear a T-shirt that communicated my admiration for this culinary delight. I hope the Internet is busy making such a T-shirt, even as we speak. Have you tasted the premium fish sandwich? I bet you haven’t. You’re like most of these squares around here. You’re so unhip, you probably couldn’t even find the drive-thru, despite the clear and unambiguous signage.
Let me tell you about the premium fish sandwich, dude. If you share my refined palate and appreciation of haute cuisine, the premium fish sandwich is a life-changing experience. You don’t see anything special about the premium fish sandwich? Well, of course you don’t. It’s only made of line-caught North Atlantic cod. It’s only coated with special-recipe seasoned breadcrumbs. It’s only deep-fried until it’s a succulent golden beige. It’s only topped with a generous dollop of premium mango-infused tartar-mayonnaise. Not a big deal, right? You know what? Don’t order the premium fish sandwich. Its subtle delights would be wasted on you, because you lack the perspective and vocabulary to comprehend such a transcendent dining experience.
People who trudge through life swaddled in non-ironic, non-referential garments should stick to the dollar menu.
