Forget that the guy looks like a deer in the headlights on acid, the jacket he’s wearing is on point.

My eyes are sexy, but my eyes are sensitive. So when I have to wear sunglasses, they have to pretty sexy too.

And be charitable. Cause if I’m going to prevent someone from gazing upon the glory that are my pair of eyes, I better also be making the world a better fucking place.

I wake up and I can’t remember a damn thing but the clues to last night are spread across the mess of my bed: empty bottles of Johnny Walker and cigarette ashes and broken condoms and her, peacefully sleeping next me and inside this mess and I try to get out of bed and that’s when my exploding brain tells me that’s a stupid fucking idea and I ignore him but I don’t get far before before I trip over these pants.

That’s when I start to remember last night but I only get the part where she’s telling me how much she likes my pants and the part where she rips them off.

Let’s pretend for a second you actually use a watch to tell time. Wouldn’t you want a watch where the hands are camouflaged into the back? And you would also want to not be able to tell if it’s six or twelve?

Well you don’t use your watch to tell time anyways, so you shouldn’t get this gorgeous thing.

EDIT: if you noticed that Drake named dropped these earlier and I didn’t, it’s be cause I am Drake.

Yo, Justin Timberlake’s got a new album and he’s finally not dressing like he’s trying to bring N Sync back. Time to step your game up.

“Accessorize, accessorize,” he said in a voice that reminded me of that gay guy on Cheers and he walked away and over to this blonde at the bar and he grabbed her and he kissed her and she dropped her glass on the floor and he smoothly let go of her breats and he walked out of the bar before she was able to get that rid of that stunned “did I just get Fucked?” face and call the cops.

Please, couldn’t afford a two-thousand dollar suit could you? That’s okay; that’s what blogs are for, right? Why spend two grand on a suit when you can just copy and paste the photos on your blog and drool/criticize the designer for each millimeter the buttons are too far to the right.

But not now, it’s time to berate your Asian tailor because your thrift-store suit he’s altering for thirty dollars isn’t “fashion week ready” and learn to dance in double monks around your studio apartment just in case there’s a Saturday Night Fever remake.

This suit’s dope though, so bounce those checks and fuck that rent.

You ever paid so much money to look like a hobo? For $1500, it better make you look like a damned sexy hobo.

It does.

This is the kind of jacket you give a girl while she’s shaking in the cold and you could be sleeping in her bed tonight instead under the 405 overpass.

There once was a suit too dope.

It was tailored in the heart of Venice, Italy by the legendary,then 120 year-old, tailor Mario Berlusconi who, upon completing the suit, fell dead in shock from witnessing the suit’s presence.

There once was a man who desired this suit.

He offered the tailor a king’s ransom to make the suit, fully aware that the tailor’s heart could not handle the shock of being in front of such perfection.

But, the suit was his.

He waited until the perfect night to dawn the suit, with the perfect gorgeous woman to impress. And on that night, he picked the perfect tie, the perfect shoes, the perfect shirt and the perfect watch to go with the perfect suit. And he knotted every tie, buckled every cuff link and tied every shoe. And he was finished; he was suited up.

And that’s when he came.

He came so hard, he had to sit down. He had to take the suit off. And instead of going that night, he went to bed. Upon awaking, he was perplexed. He tried to put on the suit, but he came again and had to take it off. And the next day, he tried again. He came again.

But as despaired he was from unable to properly control himself in the suit, the perfection of the fabrics, the glory of the lapels, and the fascination of the cut would not let him break free of the desire to rock the suit. The suit that was too dope.

And from then on, he started his day by trying put the suit on. And from then on, he started his day by cumming into the suit. It started to become routine; something to help him get up in the morning and get ready for work. And then a year passed, and suit had become rock hard, the fabrics ruined, and the cut completely stiff and completely unwearable.

Alas, the suit was ruined.