You wouldn’t dare.
“Triple. Fucking. Denim. You’re not ready for my street-style. Who can pull off double denim? Few? Triple? Motherfucking triple? Me and Lenny Kravitz. That’s it. This my steez, yo.”
Are we still saying steez?
“I haven’t stopped. Saying steez is my steez.”
I’ll let you talk about your clothes if you stop saying steez.
“Deal. Obviously, all the denim is both raw and selvedge. The particular batch of denim used for my jeans was so raw that several people caught Listeria.”
“The denim found in the classic trucker’s jacket is free-range.”
“And the overshirt is made from a very rare denim: the cotton is grown in Toluca Lake by an agricultural commune started by ex-Price Is Right spokesmodels. They only produce about a dozen trouser-worth of material a year. It’s so soft and smooth. Like satin, but less creepy.”
Satin is totally the creepiest fabric.
“And it’s not even good for fucking! Your knees slip out from under you.”
On the other hand, ever put on a pair of your ladyfriend’s satin undergarments?
“Yes, I have.”
It ain’t the worst feeling.
“It’s like your balls have been tucked in by luxury.”
Yes. Good call.
What were we talking about?
“The toppermost is named Pond Filled With…the word is hazhi-jookiri. It doesn’t really translate: means ‘fish who refuse to go along with the program.’ It dates back to 1853, where it was being sewn by the legendary Sumo Hibachi.”
Not an actual Japanese name, nope.
“The garment was meant for a powerful shogun, but the shipment was waylaid by foreign devils and captured by Katy Perry’s great-great-great grandfather. It was passed down through the family for over 150 years.”
Katy Perry’s related to Admiral Perry?
“They bear a striking resemblance. Katy presented me with this toppermost on the first anniversary of our lovemaking. She also worked my prostate, so it was just a great evening.”
CELL PHONE NOISE
“Why can’t you ever be happy for others?”
“You’re on with John.”
“What the fuck?”
“Johnny, it’s Benjy and Sammy.”
“Tell Sammy I say hi, Benj.”
“Johnny say hi, Sam.”
“You oughta come down here, buddy. We are partying like crazy. Andrew W.K. told us we were partying too hard, that’s how hard we’re partying.”
“You heard Sammy.”
“I’m busy, Benj. Still on tour with Dead & Company. Can’t pop down to Baja right now.”
“Had an idea, buddy. Wonderland.”
“Wonderland, John. You once told me that my body was one.”
“Not your body, Benj.”
“Whatever. Wonderland, buddy! Like Sammy’s place, Cabo Wabo. A John Mayer-themed resort, restaurant, bar, convention center, and secret smuggling airfield. Wonderland.”
“I don’t think so. Restaurant’s a lot of work.”
“Nah, they run themselves.”
“Can I make a confession?”
“Did you already buy a restaurant?”
“I did. It’s really nice. There’s an office in the back where we can hang out.”
“You shouldn’t hide in the back all the time, though. Very helpful to come out and schmooze.”
“I’m not a retired prize-fighter, man. Sell the restaurant.”
“We’d take a huge loss. But we do have our insurance all paid up.”
“Burn it down, Benj.”
“Don’t call me chief.”