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Fashion новости

Man Patiently Waits For JNCOs To Be Cool Again

Juggalo
Tom and his JNCOs

Roanoke, Va.–“I used to wear these in middle school, when everybody was doing it. We’d put these jeans on and quietly sit expanding our consciousnesses to Coal Chamber, KoRn, and Insane Clown Posse,” said unemployed Thomas Cranwell, 25, inside his mother’s home where he still resides.

Instead of waiting for the late-90s style to return, experts say he should start hanging out with the right people.

“Still highly sought after by juggalos, JNCOs are the rarest type of jeans found in goodwill,” said InDesign TV’s fashion expert Claude Montagne.

The world’s largest pair of JNCO’s

“They look like a skirt, sometimes, or like a pair of shorts for a giant,” said Montagne, adding, “You drop something in the pockets of a JNCOs and you can forget about it.”

JNCOs were easy to spot in the late 90’s, and were typically held up with one hand while the other hand swayed out at a 45-degree angle, as if the wearer was constantly battling the urge to stiff-arm imaginary children.

The Lee Pipes model, ex-competitor to JNCO, no longer extends ten feet outward in all directions. Following hipster fashion, Lee Pipes now makes skinny, constrictive jeans for people who are just now getting on board.

JNCO’s doctors and lawyers warn against this particular style of jeans, citing reproductive issues as a cause for concern.

“Any male who wears these constrictive jeans for too long risks severe damage to his scrotum, penis, and even the vas deferens,” said El Wax Research Department, Berkeley, California Chairman Dr. Langstrom T. Armstrong, expert in Urology.

“Vas deferens?” he added incredulously, “How do they work!?”

The vas deferens is an eighteen inch tube carrying sperm from the epididymis to the ejaculatory ducts. Or, as Insane Clown Posse explains it: “Miracles.”

“Magic everywhere in this bitch.”

-ICP

Thomas Cranwell said he will hang onto the jeans for at least another decade, holding out either for a relapse in fashion sense or for an open letter of apology from the JC Penny’s that sold him the pants.

“In the meantime,” he said, “I pick a particularly tough day after work and wear them as an aid to my sense of well-being.”

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Special Interest новости

The Chronicle Manifesto

Terror Rally ends in glorious victory

In the heart of a black sun morning, my chest was pouring my love adoringly over you, but
In the overcast overmind soul decay, the tooth aloof amassed fast to say what’s real is only phony.

All’s baloney, Jim Mahoney!

Come what may, the preachers pray Karl Malone, he shoots a three and earns him lots of money ’cause my bet is on the pony.

Sick dilution soul’s pollution come come come on restitution
’cause this destitution’s tripping me
Out on the fields of sea lions and seals
I’m looking for the Walrus, man the bridge, is out and Paul, Ringo, and Saul of the Molemen, please, come in.

The Chronicle speaks and leaks truth and disease, mal-ease and pleases the masses
to hear what they fear on deaf ears and dead eyes,
paralyzed by marketing, advertised lies, loan sharking and bastardized
the size of a scene in a dream that seems brighter, beautiful, more green
than previously perceived, deceived by the president, relieved by the precedent,
set crescent moon in the view of the smog, over pogs, peace frogs and hippies with the drip,
acid tripping, time perception clipping, nation-overstepping
conglomeration double-pacing human devolution
loss of the thumb, get dumb, watch crack, listen to choosic, it’s a revolution.

And lose it, drink beer, this bud’s for you, the blue’s clues, it’s
Bred to bleed these thoughts, get taught that your brain rots
swallow, chug, belch and absorb salt, Heart’s shot, here’s a shot
And prescription, no description of what it is or what it’s not.

Don’t sell yourself short, get bought, Stamped and dated,
register yourself online and get rated,
And in just in case it wasn’t plainly stated,
Your ass belongs to Lebal Drocer Incorporated.

Editor’s note: asdfjkl;

Categories
Status Quo новости

New Century American Motto

“You better watch out. She’ll lay that pussy on you.”

Drinking beers, sharing fears. Drunk and eager women splay themselves across me while the fire burns our legs. And I look into her eyes to find lust and distrust, and an attitude of despondency coupled with belligerence, if it feels good.

It’s open season on the American way of life. The FBI can safely and legally plant tracking devices on your car now. Until it goes to the Supreme Court, which it might never, it’s legal – even if “outlawed” it will go on. Who enforces the law? The criminal dogs that oversee us.

Fraudulence infects every facet of human behavior, life, and lies are the ethical way, so as not to hurt or dismiss another’s potential to suck you off.

Fuck this fake-ass charade, puppeteer conglomerate meltdown frenzy. Millions of Americans ready to work and can’t get shit off the ground. Credit bubble human enslavement crisis not only on the horizon but in our faces. In our blood, in our bank accounts, the freedom virus lives, breeds, counter intuitively thrives on your ignorance, and pattern of submission.

The government knows what you do, where you sleep. Get your cars checked out. If you’re trouble, then you’re watched. Of course, you’re not trouble. You just write stupid shit. Bomb shit.

If you write anything at all, which you don’t.

Empty notebooks stare back at you in a jealous fit, so eager to be full as you, and yet so blank and pathetic. Like you.