Here's my theory about Jim Beam. There is only one bottle of it in the world, and no one actually drinks it. The guy who first bought it was going to a party held by someone he didn't particularly like. Someone he didn't deem worthy of a decent bottle of liquor. So the person who ended up with it paid it forward to someone else, and eventually it ended up in my possession. So that means someone dislikes me enough to stick me with this foul, pungent hot potato. Unfortunately I was stupid enough to open it, thinking I could choke it down. But that means I can't pass it on to anyone else so it looks like the cycle ends with me. Great.
There are so many funny things about it. The title alone reads like it was written in English, translated into Hebrew by someone who speaks only Japanese, then translated back into English by a chimp of below average intelligence. I don't know what throws me more, the fact that the makers of this album are trying to convince us that this is a "Festival," or that these same people have zero understanding of the concept of plurals, yet correctly used the possessive. I will never listen to this, although I'm curious as to who is singing these songs in what language.
Not only do I still own this awful piece of fabric, but I've worn it on several occasions. Out of the house. Where other people could see it. The last time I wore it was Valentine's Day several years ago, and a drunk guy at a bar asked if he could try it on. I let him, and he started singing "fat guy in a little coat" as his girth pushed the delicate stitching to its limit. Still, I wish he had actually ripped the thing.
And check out these buttons!
I will never wear this again, but I can't throw it away. I don't know why. Help me.