Throughout my life, I've strived to live my life in a manner that conveys my cultured and refined upbringing. I only wear the finest lenin trousers, "snap button" style cowboy shirts, and brown leather boat shoes. I've carried myself with the same sort of quiet dignity that the Brawny Paper Towel Man once did.
Had I lived in the 19th century, I'm quite certain I would've been known as a southern dandy. I believe that life is too short for me to do nothing less than surround myself with the finer things in life...
Like a monocle.
Pimp Cane
A Yacht
a clay aiken tattoo
and a jaunty cravat
Note to the uncultured swine in the reading audience who don't know what a cravat is: It's the thing that is hiding that dude's neck
While I've always been quite fancy, I've often thought that there was something missing. One key part that was stopping me from becoming the distinguished man about town I've always felt resided within me. Today, while I was in the grocery store, I realized what I was missing that was stopping me from being the ultimate fancy fellow:
That's right. A pipe.
A pipe would be the final factor in the "sumner equation of fanciness" (patent pending). A pipe would give me something to do with my hands while wandering about my kingdom, thinking my profound thoughts.
And I could meet yearly with other world weary geniuses at the British National Pipe Smoking Championship, where I could hobnob with the high and mighty, exchange ideas about the perfect advertising campaign for Hostess Cupcakes, and blow smoke rings as I shot the breeze.
People would respect me if I had a pipe. They'd know I meant business, and that I care not for the surgeon
generals disapproval of my lifestyle. Cause I'm a loner dottie... a rebel.
I don't need to see it.... I lived it.
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