Stop this motherfucking mustache and bacon band-aid bullshit, please! I am about to crawl into your hot pink mustache panties and take a bacon-scented doodoo. You have gotten lazy. You have become a predictable cliche. You have become the uncle who insists, "Pull my finger!" It's not funny anymore. It was funny for one hour of one day maybe. But now it's boring and annoying. Keeping Portland weird has become synonymous with conformity. I challenge you to actually be weird. What does it mean? You would ask for a recipe. It means stop copying the answers off your neighbor's paper and just be your fucking self... if you are willing to be real and not "pretend-weird" like all y'all are so into. Maybe you'll consider trading in your fixie for a dolphin-powered jetski that you can use to carpool up and down the Willammete. Or maybe you will take that salted chocolate deer flavored gelato and insert it through your tattoed/gauged asshole. Just stop acting like you're so crazy because you have a vegetable tattoo. How about you tattoo Regis's face over your face? Personally, I am keeping it weird by having pubic hair that people mistake for polar fleece hot pants. Haven't heard of that one? Bring it!
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