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If You Want To Destroy My Sweater, You’ll Have To Face Me in Hand to Hand Combat

Hey man, long time no see! I didn’t know you were invited to the after-party. Small world, huh? Did you happen to see — oh, my sweater? Yeah, I’ve had this for a while now. Kind of my go-to alt-rock show look digs. It belongs in a Goodwill incinerator, huh? Okay, well you’d be wise to hear me and know me: if you want to destroy my sweater, you’ll have to face me in hand-to-hand combat.

What, you think I’m wearing this sweater ironically like it’s 2007? I’ll have you know this sweater is a family heirloom, and my grandfather would be rolling in his grave if I did not defend its honor. This is one hundred percent combed cotton and I will one hundred percent stab you. Goddam. I am. So fucking amped right now.

No, your chance to keep your stupid opinion to yourself is over. It gone, bye bye. I’m assuming you’ve studied Krav Maga for over a decade like I have because that’s the only way someone will pry this thing off my body. I will fight any motherfucker at this afterparty, including that random girl I gave a ride here.

I’ll let you pick your weapon. Go ahead, anything in this room is at your disposal, though good luck getting close enough to even pull a single thread. No, I don’t think I’m being ridiculous. What if I just walked up to you and said that I wanted to destroy your tank top? Not that I would, because I’m fucking polite.

Listen, it’s not too late for us to be friends and just walk away. But if I catch you so much as take a glimpse at this loose thread, I’m liable to leave you lying on the floor in your Superman skivvies.

I’m serious. Touch this thread, and you will pull back a bloody stump motherfucker.

Anyway, so glad we’re all back together and stuff. Maybe next time we see each other you’ll find some fashion sense you Buddy Holly-looking jackass.