Thursday, July 26, 2007

An open letter to those who choose to wear other people's pants.

I rarely find myself wearing other people's clothing. On occasion, I'll borrow a shirt from my sister. Maybe something from one of my roommates when the fear starts to creep in that the outfit I've been donning during mediocre Old Market evenings is slowly becoming a uniform. But mark my words: I always, without fail, make sure I check the pockets, crevices, hems and button holes for cocaine before leaving the house. Why risk ruining an evening at (insert bar bearing name of Irishman or amphibian here), or worse, a day at work, with a completely avoidable arrest and subsequent PR fiasco? It's just something I do. And maybe, Lindsay Lohan, it's something you should do too.

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