Spermatozoa, East of Java

I was in Highland Park the other day and I saw a car with one of those old Bad Boy stickers on the window. I mention HP because a sticker like that's still be a big deal over there with the older folks. If you've never seen the Bad Boy stickers before they show some little guy with a Dennis The Menace cowlick peeing on the floor with a sneer on his face (natch), Bad Boy mooning you, etc.

With all this FU sentiment coming out of Bad Boy I then found it rather odd that there was a car sticker showing Bad Boy on his knees intently praying to the Cross. Ah, what goes on here? What does this signify?

What exactly is Bad Boy doing here? I can only surmise it means one of two things, either: (A) If Bad Boy prays to Christ regularly then he thinks it exempts him from sin from giving us the finger and pissing on our lawn, which makes him a typical Republican, or (B) This little cunt is actually repenting for being an irritating sticker icon. What do you people think?

I had another one of my ghastly dreams last night. When I woke up in the middle of the night and went to the bathroom to do my business I opened the door, flipped on the light, and what looked like over fifty large cockroaches ran around in circles like madmen all over the floor.

Normally I would run and put my boots on, but time was of the essence so I simply took my stockinged feet and began stomping on these multi-legged vermin like an insane Italian stomping grapes for dry red wine. The roaches squirted open upon impact of my furious stomping, all lying dead and twitching their last few legs and clicking their antennae in entomological agony. After cleaning up the mess I went back to bed.

Two hours later I got up to go to the bathroom again, and once I flipped on the light I heard the hissing and coiling of two dozen snakes all over the floor. I grabbed a safety razor I only use on special dates and severed all of their heads, still spitting venom at me and missing wildly. That was a messy clean-up, but I went back to bed.

Three hours later I got up to go to the bathroom, hesitated opening up the door but duty calls, so I flipped on the light, and twenty one rats ran around the floor. I grabbed the biggest tote bag in the bathroom and threw it over them, tied the ends of the bag and threw it into the bath tub. I turned the hot water spigot all the way up and heard a lot of cute shrieking.

These boys very reluctantly drowned, but a few were still hanging in there, so I pulled the survivors out by their cute pink tails and threw them into the toilet, flushing them down. two of them had their heads halfway stuck down the bowl with their tails and back legs sticking up from the bowl.

Damn. I guess I'm going to have to call the plumber tomorrow.

I have this job on weekends delivering fashion to well-heeled people in Malibu, Bel-Air and all points northward. It's a great job because I get to go to these ridiculously lavish areas with more spectacular homes I've ever seen. It's pretty awesome. It's never boring, and sometimes these people even tip.

So I'm making a drop-off up in the Hollywood Hills and I'm really flustered getting the gown out and all, my ass is hanging out of my pants and my clipboard is falling down, and I turn around and there's this TMZ tour bus with these blonde apple knockers with their fucking cameras and iPhones taking pics of me pulling out a gown with my dick falling out my pants and I got THIS close to screaming, "WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE?"

Pictures At An Exhibitionistic Collection

Well, all the European fashion weeks representing AW16 (Autumn/Winter 2016) seem to be over and the smoke has finally cleared and it was easy to pick the good stuff from the junk. Trying to keep up with all the fashion weeks and the designers that made them so notable would be like counting boxcars from a speeding freight train. Can you blame so many designers for resigning from the well-dressed rat race? I can't.

A few lines caught my eye and I'm going to talk about the ones I rally liked. Attacking the dumber ones would be too easy: let's just say I saw a lot of hokey flower and animal prints, which looked like bad tourist wear.

Dries Van Noten : Cold weather never looked so cool, but DVN rarely disappoints. Beautiful delicate fabrics of silks and velvets in rich colors with dashing old world coats, slickers and dusters, partially recalling Jules Verne's Michael Strogoff and Dr. Zhivago. Very romantic stuff,a nd it didn't hurt that the models all had that Terence Stamp/David Hemmings look. Well done.

Maison Martin Margiela: This was almost approaching Clockwork Orange territory with suspenders holding up mixed fabric trousers and tops, looking very pop art futuristic droog.

The more "subdued" designs were cool waistcoats and jodhpurs, very Rolling Stones pirate with some Sleepy Hollow ghost rider goth chic thrown in. Extrovert or introvert, this one wowed me both ways.

Dior Homme: Dior Homme's AW16 collection was a highly energetic collection of wild suiting utilizing unusual fabrics and beyond elephant flares, the baggiest, widest trousers, phat enough to make Rei Kawakubo jealous. Cartoony bolo ties finished the look, and that was just the formal wear. The sportier styles were asymmetrical wool caps with rich oxblood leather coats. Bravo.

Yves St. Laurent: This show took place two miles away from my house and I could kick myself for missing this great presentation. Following the death of David Bowie, the menswear designs shown at the Hollywood Palladium (!) emulated Bowie during his cocaine fueled Young Americans-Station To Station period, big slouch hats, tightly cut suits with thick, severe sunglasses. Hedi Slimane did a brilliant job. Fashion comes to Hollywood and wakes up all the ghosts of glitz and glam.