"(t-s)hurts so good..."

a story about fashion, a fabric pen, and post-irony.

before i went away, i bought a fabric pen to label laundary; it came in useless, but while writing 'dcg' illegibly, in black, on black socks, i decided to grafitize a gray t-shirt someone had given me. can't print onto gray t-shirts. so i wrote a slogan on it, except, you might remember, i dislike slogan t-shirts. so what is the only slogan a creature like me would write on a t-shirt?
hilarious! i'm a genius! i wore it round and proud. i wore it to heathrow, and staff thought it was funny. after about, ooh, five days of wear, i put it in the wash. went back to "visualise voluntary human extinction", and its ilk. when it came back from the wash, something was different about it. well, it hadn't changed. but suddenly it wasn't as funny. but then, when i realised that, it instantly became a whole room of american sit-com writers funnier. "it was funny when i bought it... and now it's not funny at all!! i kill me!". so i wore it again. now, the third time it came out of the wash, it had changed again. i looked upon it and realised i had entered the game of pricks. i was only in the same league as the people with "you're just jealous because the little voices are talking to me" t-shirts. for all my irony, i was no better. and now i'm embarresed to wear it. it sits at the top of my drawer, while every time i root underneath it for others... and soon, the next load of laundary will fall upon it, and it may be buried forever...
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