A gentleman hardly considers his outright market domination and boardroom brilliance labor-intensive, yet he still makes the time to celebrate the hard work of the office-drones. As the final holiday of the summer season, a gentleman uses Labor Day parties to retire his summertime, sartorial ensemble. Sporting an immaculate seersucker jacket, a flamboyant shirt and his most seizure-inducing madras pants, a gentleman — over the course of an uproarious cocktail party — will strut his stuff like a pink flamingo, making ribald small talk with fellow party goers and staining said getup with booze, condiments, and hamburger grease, before tossing the tarnished threads into a massive beach bonfire, around which he dances drunk and naked, shouting in indecipherable tongues that only the Gentlemen Gods themselves can fully understand.
BaptistBandit: haven’t seen you in ages
BaptistBandit: how’s tricks?
DoctorWu: everything’s running smooth
BaptistBandit: smooth? your life? i don’t believe it
BaptistBandit: no craziness?
DoctorWu: zip. zilch. nada
DoctorWu: srsly, i’m trying to cram in some quality work and make something of myself before 09 runs out and i hit 30
BaptistBandit: please, 30 is when you start making something of yourself
BaptistBandit: BUT you close out your 20s with drugs and booze and debauchery and generally making a mockery of your complete existence as a human being
DoctorWu: oh well in that case I did that over labor day weekend
DoctorWu: where my actions lead to me getting temporarily dumped by lindsay
BaptistBandit: yes!!! go on… Continue reading »