Thursday, May 12, 2005

Dressed to Kill

There is girl that I work with whose sense of fashion tends to slay me.


I remember first recognizing her unique sense of “business casual” when I happened to notice when she wore her infamously gruesome “orifice babies” t-shirt. It instantly invoked an unusual sensation in my balls that was not altogether pleasant.

On other days, it has been a gray military training t-shirt with a Navy SEAL in full combat gear slitting the throat of some surprised evil-doer, with the heart-wrenching slogan “A CUT ABOVE THE REST” brazenly outlined in the resulting pool of blood below.

Isn’t that cute?

That loin cloth and purple strap-on are sure seeming more and more encouraging as a feasible office place ensemble.

How, in any way, can this be considered anything resembling as either professional or appropriate?

Today she was dressed a little more conservatively. Her chosen black t-shirt only had child-like stick drawings of a little girl, some tombstones, and a puppy awash in a goopy puddle of red blood-like splotches.

That’s not too creepy is it? This must be her “come hither” attire.

Why, in an environment where the recommended business attire has all the warm personality of a dentists lobby, hasn’t anybody ever expressed shock or even mild concern over her dark sense of fashionable decorum? I don’t get it!

If I, heaven’s forbid, were to ever be so brazen as to even attempt to wear a pair of clean denims with my sneakers, they’d probably call out the office Gestapo on my work desk and have me instantly removed for reprogramming!

Now, don’t get me wrong, I love this girl – she is a great collegue, even if she is a little like a walking Steven King novel on acid…oh, and with boobs. She’s friendly, clever, not totally indifferent towards me, and has an ass you could crack walnuts on; she’s everything I could ever ask for in a good co-worker.

But there’s still just something inexplicably sinister being emitted from her that, apart from the ghoulish sense of fashion of course, I just can’t put my finger on. I realize she’s not exactly the kind of girl that you would shower with lollipops and ‘Hello Kitty’ memo pads, but does she have to be so in-your-face with her choice of t-shirts?

I have a morbid fascination with the macabre as well; I revel in reading the biographies of infamous serial killers and even pride myself on my seemingly infinite knowledge in the delicate lost art of medieval torture*, but I don’t feel the need to incessantly impose these graphic disturbed illustrations on the general public**.

Twisted “orifice babies” and animated murder scenes are not exactly going to bring out the warm fuzzies in your fellow man, is it?

Shit, NO! It’ll have them running for their very lives lest these should become the subject matter for tomorrows grizzly t-shirt.

* In fact, it was an impassioned lecture by a University History professor on the practice of Anglo-Saxon dungeon interrogations that convinced me to switch my then current major in Geography & Environmental Studies to that of Medieval Studies in my first year. Fuck rocks and depleted ozone layers, nothing kick-started your morning buzz like a class on crusades and medieval warfare.

** And I’m talking about the type of disturbing images that could invoke rats to rain from the sky and make horses nervous for miles around.


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