Foul Papers

#60

My bike was stolen the other day. The worst part is that the perpetrator forgot to steal my helmet along with it, so now there’s some person out there riding around on my bicycle, unaware of its faulty front brakes, without the sense of security and cushioning effect that only a helmet can provide. Folks, if you’re driving along and you happen to see someone riding my bike without a helmet, give them some space, okay? I worry.

(In all seriousness, I will be contacting the police shortly — gotta find out when they’re holding their next auction.)

But the more pressing purchase is the winter hat I’ve decided to buy. I hold it as a truism that winter hats are the greatest genre of hats, so selecting the right one is a big deal to me. I took an informal poll among my friends as to which style they thought would suit me best, which for some reason they took as a license to describe the craziest goddamn hats they have ever seen. At the very least these things contained multiple flaps, pompoms (plural), and the fur of animals that I’m pretty sure only exist through genetic engineering. Yet as my friends were describing these flip-offs to the fashion world and dignity in its purest form, all I could think to myself was: I would love to wear that.