Spot The Poser


Witnessed today, on my way to Barnes & Noble to buy a copy of M. John Harrison’s Nova Swing, and allow me to preface this observation with the fact that it is a bitter 18 degrees above zero here with a wind chill of about 20 and a good 8 or 9 inches of crisp, new snow on the ground from yesterday’s storm.

A spotty faced young gentleman, 16 years old at best, outside, angrily shoeveling his parent’s driveway wearing nothing more than jeans and a sparkling white, just off the rack Che Guevara T-shirt.

You go, my brother. Never mind that it’s nearly certain you don’t know fact one about the man, his history or Marxism in general. Never mind that every marginally informed individual who drives by is enjoying a knowing chuckle at your fashionable, adolescent notion of defiance. Never mind, even, that your nipples are now so hard you could use them to cut through a plate glass window. You fly that flag. You raise that fist. Fuck ’em all.

And maybe, just maybe, that mall chick you’ve been jerking off about nights under the covers might drive by and spot you and go all moony about how outrageously cool you really must be to rock it like that. Play it right, comrade, and you’re in.

I, for one, don’t blame you at all.


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One Response to “Spot The Poser”

  1. Chippy McGuinness Says:

    I don’t know; I kind of want one of those Che t-shirts where he’s wearing the propellor beanie. Those are cool.

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