“Hey Ma, it’s me. I know the FBI said I’m not allowed contact with you since the witness protection programme shipped me to England, but rules be damned – a good son should always call to wish his mother a happy birthday.
“Things in England are going well. The weather is crap, the people aren’t as friendly as they are in the States (in fact, some are downright hostile) and I’ve not been able to find Synder’s Jalapeño Pretzel Bites anywhere, but my accent is improving and I’m starting to warm to the barren, remote village Agent Michaels dumped me in. They’ve even got red phone boxes here, like in those travel pictures the case worker showed you shortly before the Feds black-bagged me and sent me here! Ain’t that swell?
“Anyway, I best be off. I keep hearing someone heavy-breathing down the earpiece, so I think this line might be bugged. Hope you’re in good health and that Tommy ‘Two-Toes’ Tomasso hasn’t broken your kneecaps or whatever. Happy birthday!”
Not that there’s anything wrong with a bit of dress-up, but these days, it does sort-of feel like it’s jumped the shark a little bit. Young lads are wearing head-to-toe Gore-Tex to mill about Homebase, while the only time some sweatwear aficionados break a sweat is when they’re forcing down the rest of the ragu.
That maxim’s particularly pertinent to this character. Sure, his fancy trench coat, high-class cardigan and French stompers certainly gives the impression of a suave don-dada, but peel back the immaculately-tailored curtain and you’ll find a bloke who makes Mr. Bean look like James Dean.
Restaurants are reduced to rubble every time he heads out for soup… snooty upper-class type have their feathers well and truly ruffled whenever he accidentally wanders into a governor’s ball… and, unless you’re a fan of pratfalls and other assorted slapstick suffering, God forbid you ever catch him on public transport.
However, credit is where credit is due – at least he can manage to keep it together somewhat when he’s shopping at Oi Polloi for new garb… the incident where he scolded three staff members with a comically-large pot of hot Vimto notwithstanding.
Not that there’s owt wrong with our regular troupe of fleshy mannequins, but this Halloween, we thought we’d try and push the boat out and book a real-deal celebrity to bring some much-needed star power to this week’s Deck~Out.
So we greased a few palms, made some dodgy backdoor deals, as well as a traded a couple of favours we’re not exactly proud of, and managed to blag an afternoon with none other than Mr. Predator, whom you may recognise for his work in Alien Vs. Predator (2004) and Sci-Fi Pinball (1999).
He was a complete nightmare to work with by the way. Not only did he rip a photographer’s spine out when they asked him to crack a smile, his rider was ridiculously excessive, and he kept on making rude comments like “these Deck~Out things aren’t as funny as they used to be”.
Since the days of nomadic hunter-gather societies and primitive animal-hide clobber, human beings have always sought out new clothing innovations. One-armed tactician FitzRoy James Henry Somerset invented raglan sleeves to make his stiff military garb more comfortable back in the 19th century, and in the modern age, people like Engineered Garments have pushed the boundaries of what’s possible in terms of pocket arrangements and whatnot.
Stone Island have also pioneered their fair share of breakthroughs, but no unit of measurement will stretch to how far they’ve pushed the boat out this time… they’ve finally made a jacket that smells exactly like Aquafresh. And we’ve been asked to oversee the beta-testing.
This lucky lad has been selected from an applicant pool of thousands to try it out, and we’re pleased to report that after a week of wear, he stopped brushing his teeth, and just after two weeks he didn’t feel the need to bathe anymore.
However, the jacket only works so well off-torso, so whenever our specimen is in a well-heated pub or his mum’s house, he’s subjected to unrelenting, body-odour-based chiding from all those around him, but despite this, we’d still consider the experiment a rip-roaring success.
This chap – looks pretty normal, doesn’t he? A dime-a-dozen chap who enjoys taking the kids to the park on Saturdays and thumbing through The Guardian’s culture section on a Sunday. A textbook steak-and-ale pie, salt and vinegar crisps, pint of Heineken, cheddar cheese type-of bloke. The human equivalent of a Ford Focus.
But beneath this quotidian façade lies a deeply-disturbing persona, the likes of which should leave upstanding citizens such as yourselves clutching your pearls.
For when the rest of the world is sleeping soundly, Mr. Normal is wide awake, lurking in the shadows of his dingy cellar, his contorted, rabid face illuminated only by the garish glow of LED screen, virtually arguing with other likeminded sickos about the correct toe box geometry and sole thickness of old European comfort shoes.
In suburbs across the country, there exists a certain species of lad rarely acknowledged, let alone appreciated, by the wider world – the Always-Wearing-Shorts Man.
We’ve all seen ‘em. Come rain or shine, sleet or snow, these devil-may-care madheads brave the outside realm with their knees exposed to the elements. Is it an act of defiance against social norms? Is it an attempt to assert their masculinity over their pant-wearing peers? Or do they just really buzz off shorts?
Who knows. But then again, if you owned a pair of chocolate-lime-flavoured Nylon Metal shorts, would you ever take them off?
Didn’t think so.
Engineered Garments Atlantic Parka Dark Navy PC Poplin Size L
