Dude. For real, it must suck. It must totally suck to be this, like, crazy-awesome teen sailor chick who just wants to get in her boat and be alone. Alone for, like, however long it takes to sail around the friggin’ globe. Gawd! It’s not like she’s asking for a tattoo or whatever.
What do $2 million, 2,500 copies of Sports Illustrated and possible pimping activities have in common?
Hey France. You see this? This is Lance Armstrong’s back. I know you don’t need me to tell you that, you’ve been on it for years.
It’s time to get off.
Imagine you had a dirty joke that you like telling in familiar company. This joke you’re imagining is filthy. Heinous. The kind of joke that demands you hunch your shoulders and lean in close to the people you tell it to. Handled properly, there isn’t necessarily anything wrong with these jokes (although there might be something wrong with you for thinking they’re funny), but their relative harmlessness doesn’t mean you’d want to tell this joke over a bullhorn to a group of randomly gathered strangers either.
See? Celtic swingman Marquis Daniels doesn’t get that.
Remember when the color red used to signify passion? Perhaps war? Blood, if you’re into specifics? Well take some photos of all that and put ‘em in a scrapbook, because — yes, pictures of red things. No, I don’t know specifically what you should photograph. It was more of a pithy introduction to the blog than an actual suggestion. Besides, I’m the warning guy, not the idea guy. How you take pictures is your problem, but you should do it quickly because Nike is co-opting one of our most beloved colors. Any minute now, Nike’s going to change the way we think about red.
They’ve already started. You’ve already fallen victim. And it’s only going to get worse.