Fashion Reports

Fashion Report - Episode Eleven

Daria: I have figured out the mystery of Reichenís Most Favoritest Lucky Yellow Shorts that he keeps wearing and wearing and wearing. And wearing. In looking at a previous episode, I noticed he had khaki shorts. Khaki shorts that he wore during the bull racing. Khaki shorts that we have not seen since the bull racing. So Reichen evidently had his own burn pile during the race. And no other shorts.
Well, one really canít argue with burning a set of bull poop-ridden britches, now can one?
Hildy: Well, one really canít argue with burning a set of bull poop-ridden britches, now can one? And for me, Iím still loving the yellow shorts. I bet peoples wouldnít be complaining if he wore the same pair of khaki shorts because they wouldnít stand out as much. I think that bright colors scare people. Thatís right: yíall are yellow about Yellow! How about a little yellow, Scarecrow?

On another note, and in memory of both bull running and nut bunches, I thought that Iíd share a little tourist gift one can buy in the Southwestern part of our great country: A quart-sized furry, round pouch to hang on your wall. Itís called a Saco de Toro. Thatís right: a decorative bull scrotum. My sister has dried flowers in hers.

Daria: As for the Who, itís amazing how something as simple as cheap shorts and a white t-shirt will evoke a larger image. I imagine them wearing those clothes on a Sunday. Itís sunny out, but theyíre over at Davidís house watching football, parked on a tan, over-stuffed sofa, with a big bag of Doritos, a large jar of salsa, and five or six Budweisers on the small coffee table in front of them. Another guy or two may be there (multiply the Buds accordingly), and a pizza may be delivered at some point. If they talk about anyone other than a man involved in sports, that person will not be a woman. And the rest of Davidís house will be a mess.

Hildy: Now I have to say, the Whoís shorts bug me much more than the mellow yellowness of Reichenís attire. Those shorts look stretchy and shiny and ugly, dude. They fit badly, they do not emphasize the one great asset of team Eye Candy, and did I mention they are shiny and ugly?
Was this a dull clothing episode or what?
Daria: Okay, Iím stretching it to get this far. Was this a dull clothing episode or what? Or maybe it was just me.

Hildy: No, not you. Iím doing cartwheels over here trying to find something new to talk about. The thing is, weíve seen all the clothing there is to see. Oh, wait. Did we discuss the greeter? I think she had a sash. What are our feelings on sashes? Me, Iím not in favor unless you are a girl, under the age of five, and wearing a puffy girly party dress.

Daria: Iím now officially forgiving the Clowns all their fashion transgressions. Come back, Clowns! Bring your stupid head gear that we made fun of, your oddball shirts, your stocky little bodies Ė I love you, and I want you back! You were beautiful to me, and Iíll miss you. Iím bestowing on you a Lifetime Achievement Pretty People award, because beauty is in the eye of the beholder.

Hildy: Awwww. Now Iím all teary-eyed, but unbowed about their fashion transgressions Iíll even put on a big red nose in honor of the clowns, but they still had awful fashion sense.
Chip, take a chill pill, read the clue, and add this Ugly Ass award to your collection of Pretty People awards.
Daria: Then thereís the Ugly Ass award. Chip, take a chill pill, read the clue, and add this Ugly Ass award to your collection of Pretty People awards. And AssJon? No, you donít get points for figuring out that if you declare that youíre ďfunnyĒ and ďteasingĒ, you can needle and bully to your heartís content. Not that Iím impressed with what passes for a heart with you. Toxic people fall in love, too. Big whup Ė youíre still nasty. Add another Ugly Ass award to your massive collection.

Hildy: Heh. Daria on a roll of righteous indignationówho am I to get in her way? Chip deserves a dross-plated doublesize Ugly Ass for his nightstand for sure. Jon? Well, not so much, but I wonít argue too hard.