There were men once. The greatest of casual men. They were post-"90s what is now being called norm-core" and pre-"skinny ties, Interpol, and resold authenticity". They wore the greatest of casual sneakers.
Like crap you got at Pay-Less and cost $25 because, "who is this tasteless, even?" Which is great that they got those shoes so cheap they could shell out for the latest Nokia and cell-phone holster; the real testament to virtue, wealth, and social standing.
*stands over gas grill, not charcoal like the Baptists next door, and proclaims the day won*
"YEP GOT THIS NOKIA HERE, SEE HERE TELLS THE TIME HERE. AND WHEN YOU PRESS THIS BUTTON IT TELLS YOU ALL THE NUMBERS YOU SAVED. Y'KNOW WHAT ELSE IT DOES?
TAKES PITCHERS. TOOK A PITCHER OF WHEN SOMEONE BUMPED INTO MY REAR BUMPER AND SENT IT TO MY INSURANCE AGENT AND I MADE SURE I GOT REIMBURSED. FUCKING KID DIDN'T KNOW HOW TO DRIVE DAMN STICK TOOK MY CAR FIVE DAYS TO GET THE DENT POUNDING OUT BY THE BODY SHOP.
YEAH, I GOT A NINETY-NINE MUSTANG QUITE THE CAR BUT INSURANCE RATES ARE HIGH. STILL LOOKS PRETTY GOOD EVEN WITH THE BUMPER PAINT A LITTLE OFF. THE BODY SHOP DID A PRETTY GOOD JOB HERE BUT THE PAINT TEXTURE AINT QUITE ON BUT IT'S PRETTY CLOSE DUNCHA THINK?"
*drinks Bud. NASCAR, a well followed and interesting sport at the time (this would've been in proximity to Earnhardt's death) zips and buzzes in the background*
They were casual ubermenschen. Their likes will never be seen again.
Well, that's not entirely true. We'll see their corrupted spirits in hip-bars, manifested as young men.
