Tuesday, 16 June 2009

Turn your swag off and die,

Dear Men of the world,

As the lone male voice in the Camel Hoof movement, I come before you bearing a message of great wisdom from a world of glorious hollyhock scented pum pum in which you will never know. No I am not the chosen one nor am I the "les-bro" messiah who has come to lead you misguided souls to this Island of amazonian hood rats . Contrary to popular belief I do not have all the answers , but I do know one thing. If ever you desire to see the promise land of pum, you need to DEAD the word swagger. If you have any sort of respect for yourself , you will shove the word in the closet, handcuff it's hands behind it's back, tie a rope around it's cock & balls and let it die of auto erotic asphyxiation in a hotel room somewhere in Thailand.

The clan has spoken and they see right through that insecure confidence and over inflated sense of self importance. They know you are overcompensating with brash bravado to make up for the size of that half eaten Tic Tac you refer to as your penis. They know you were the morbidly obese kid in the high school that got his tits pinched by the footballers because they thought those 45 inch nipples of yours would produce rice milk, strawberry Jello, or a delicious custard of some sort. IT IS OK.

However, it is not OK to marinate yourself in a bath tub full of AXE body spray and Old Spice Swagger before you hit the pub.club, disco, or local brothel (even hookers have standards). The fact that any girl with half a brain and a decent sense of smell can pick up your aroma from 4 blocks away should be an indication that you are putting a little to much effort into the concept of "cool". The thought of some honky in an all weather purpose du rag and a 4xl Averix jean jacket (sorry Westwood) using the word in every other breath is truly a slap in the face to the forefathers of cool. Can you imagine Miles Davis, David Bowie, Prince, or even someone like Mos Def jiggin over to the dance floor, creeping up behind the first fat ass in a pair of heels he sees, and whispering "What it do ma...i gotz dat swag" in the ear of a poor drunk soon to be rape victim?

As a man I do understand the importance of confidence, bravado and preserving ones ego. But, as SMART man I also understand the concept of reality. The reality of the situation is that most men who feel the need to write SWAG across their foreheads in permanent marker, are either remarkably delusional, self absorbed or an insecure fuck boy who spends his parents hard earned money on buying The Pum Tang Clan round after round and shot after shot. You can pop champagne all night long and drape yourself from head to toe in the finest Ed Hardy/Affliction rhinestone t-shirts you can get your grubby little hands on, but wallowing in your own "swag" and looking like Jim Jones WILL NOT get you anywhere near the pums of my fellow staff members.

That is unless you are in fact Jim Jones, in which case all my fellow staff members would more then likely fuck you. Well not Yasmin...she is more of Juelz Santana fan


  1. My heart is officially owned by you.

  2. turn your cobra on and live.

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  3. You actually know me so well, I'd well rather do Juelz than Jim Jones. Even if he did get kidnapped by rudeboys when he came to London...