Fat Asian Baby

Everybody get out your fitted straight leg (not tapered) black jeans that are ironically a few inches too short (but aren't capris), your ugly belt, your chuck taylors, and your superworn-in-seeming thin cotton t-shirt with the ostensibly provincial small town logo on the front (like billy's bakery, bumblefuck, iowa) that you bought in 1997 (when that sort of ironically identifying as proletarian thing became, like, hip or something, like those bowlings shirts or auto mechanic uniforms with a name like ray or ernie embroidered on the front that were supposedly from the late seventies or early eighties even though there most likely weren't that many bowling team members or garage attendants named ray or ernie and there is probably still a factory somewhere in indonesia manufacturing thousands of similar "vintage" shirts) at andee's cheapies (or andy's cheapies or, god forbid, andee's cheapeez) for 50 bucks and get thee down to La Boule. Angsty hipsters the Datsuns are coming to town. Paris, that is.