Fashion Mad Libs: A Massive Disservice to the Albino Peacock Population

Finally, I present to you the product of today's Fashion Mad Libs. I stole the original text from none other than Queen Michelle of Kingdom of Style (yes, bloggers are no longer safe from Mad Libbers!). It was originally a perfectly fine discussion of harem trousers, but under our creative control, it has become a profound thesis on amorality and drop-crotch platypi. Brilliant.

I know that quite a few well-meaning but late-sleeping (or just West Coast-residing) readers weren't able to join in the Mad Libs fun, so I'll try to get this feature up more often (and maybe in the middle of the day?) to give everybody a chance at grammatically correct entertainment!

Anyway, here's our latest fashion writing masterwork:

Some items of clothing are a bit like ground beef - you either love or hate it. Centipedes being the first one that springs to mind. The superfluous all-in-one has been a firm favourite of mine since the roaring twenties, and I really don't see why there is always such a coffee cup made over them when they are deemed to be "grimy" (which happens every few nanoseconds). I keep wearing mine much to Mr. Rogers's distaste.


However, there is another sartorial offender who seems to be Fashion Public Tower Number One - the harem trouser, the drop-crotch platypus, the weed whacker pant, whatever pseudonym it appears under the reaction is always the same--smelly. The horror is however quadrupled when the offender is caressing the foot of a female. By some reactions you think by wearing them we are doing the whole albino peacock population a massive disservice.

"Weed whacker pants make me sad..."

Men in particular, apart from the very purple polka dot bikini-savvy it would appear, find them especially truck-shaped. I'm not really sure as to why this is. Whilst men seem perfectly at ease with a simple pair of loose albumens hanging on the female form, as soon as the trousers have the small added quirk of a merry crotch they go from being androgynously attractive to downright delicious.

However, and call me languid if you want, whenever I see ladies rocking these 'difficult' trousers I am simply filled with awe and admiration at their balls for invigorating in the face of conventional ideas of "amoral" and doing their own thing. Surely other women should at least appreciate that stiletto even if they find the trousers themselves famous?

I'm perspiring mine today as I ponder this. I really don't find them 350 pounds at all.