Which brings me to this point: A lot of people have emailed/commented, and it is though they are expecting me to be sevens-and-eights to the goth-trough.
Fuck that. Seriously.
It's called "Gothlaw", because that is who I am, and that is my occupation. It's not called that because I'm going to be Glenn fuckin Greenwald on 'Luudes, or regurgitate oh-so-clever analysis. This is my therapy. There are many like it, but this one is mine.
So, if you want to know what happens when the black t shirts are exchanged for a black suit, when the red lipstick yields to a red power-tie, this is it. Questing alone. Finding friends as I can, and loves as they appear.
RANT OVER. Have fun with this one....
You gotta' click this, it's sooo, sooo wrong for reasons other than its title, "Redneck Last Supper".
Why is this wrong? Primarily, because:
1. Most rednecks I know don't drink Coors Extra Gold; that shit is far more expensive than Miller Lite.
2. Ditto, the Wild Turkey in place of "Heaven Hill", "Old Crow" etc.
3. There's not a single gun here
4. Where's the "supper"?
5. Those look like 'neat' glasses you would pour an apertife into.
6. There's no cleavage, burns or bruises showing on the Magdalene
7. Who freely gives away Marlboros?
8. Why are there Marlboros instead of "Larks" etc...
9. Who serves fresh fruit in place of dead pig?
10. There's only one trucker hat
11. John the Baptist seems to have well too-coifed a beard for my taste...and, where are the greasy mullets?
12. Simon has an unrefrigerated 6 pack in front of him...wrong. Just wrong.
.
No comments:
Post a Comment