Suit you sir?

I hate clothes shopping. I hate it more than I hate you, which is saying something. It fills me with fear, just the thought of having to go shopping for more ill fitting, badly made clobber. I can't understand how some people revel in it. It appears to be a hobby for most people, spending hours trawling through shopping mauls looking for that perfect party dress or t-shirt with a Japanese baseball team's emblazoned across the chest. Most of the slavering cunts that wear this kind of shit wouldn't even be able to point to Japan on a map, I'll guarantee most of the mindless shitbags don't even know Japan exists or if it does that baseball is the most popular sport there (mainly through American occupation after the Second World War (who says you never learn anything from the shit I dribble out?)): 'Do you like my new t-shirt, it's got loads of Chinese writing all over it. It says Hanshin Tigers, they must be a footy team or summat...'

Goallllllllllllllllllllllllllllll!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yes these are kind of bottom feeders that spend their free time clothes shopping. I, on the other hand, am able to breathe without having to think about it, so I hate clothes shopping with a passion. Don't get me wrong, I like buying trinkets, I like looking in record or book shops, I can browse like the best in these places, but clothing leaves me cold. Even the shops themselves frighten the bejesus out of me. They are all full of flashing lights and loud banging music, enough to disorientate you so you'll end up buying any old shit in a techno induced miasma. I hate looking at the rows and rows of similar looking clothes trying to find a difference between the ghastly fashion items that are on display. And every shop, nay every line of clothing, seems to have it's own take on sizes. What is espoused as large in one place is medium in another. I don't spend my time taking measurements of my chest, waist, inside leg or arm pit length, so I have no idea how S, M, L, XL, XXL, ELEPHANT, match up to my present body shape. It would be nice to be able to grab a couple of medium shirts and know that they will be the same fucking size when you get them home. This happened to me the other day. Two shirts, both labeled as Medium, both completely different sizes. I had tried them on in the fitting rooms before buying them, thankfully, but it just goes to show that you can't trust clothes shops as far as you can throw them, which wouldn't be very far given the vast size of most of them.

Alright, you got me, this has nothing to do with the content and I'm just using it as an excuse to fill this post with pictures of beautiful Japanese girls, but at least she's wearing clothes. What more do you want?

This brings me to the fitting rooms. What kind of evil mind came up with these booths of horror? What fevered brain brought forth the monstrosity of the changing rotunda? Stepping into that booth is like a medical inspection from Dr Crippen. After grunting and struggling to get out of your own clothes in a space that is purposely designed to be smaller than the average human form, the massive mirror makes you inspect your own shapeless form in intimate and depressing detail. You stand in front of it, sweat pouring down you and your hair askance, trying to make a vaguely human shape. Then you get to try on the clothes you want to buy. Half of them don't even attempt at being the size they are described as in the label, the other half are too short on the legs and arms or too tight on the neck hole. Again more struggling and grunting ensues all to the ambient noise of knuckle draggers complimenting each other on the garments they are also struggling to get into in the next booth. Brow beaten and disorientated by the whole experience I grab what remains of my dignity and pay for the ill fitting outfits, just to get out of the place asap. I hate clothes shopping...

I've no excuse for this one...