I'm running with scissors.

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I need a new pair of shoes.

My new pair of pants is retarded. It's retarded because it's two sizes too big. It's two sizes too big because I was so confused. I was so confused because he kept throwing pants at me. I didn't want the boot cut, the skinny was fugly and the straight cut was cool with me. But it's two sizes too big because, oh, yeah. This is just it: the tailoring sucks monkey faeces. Thanks, Mr. I Like Getting In My Customer's Faces.

I think I'm only going to be happy if I have everything I'm ever going to wear tailored and perfected. It's just so frustrating. Nothing's ever snug or comfortable or long enough for me. I'm always adjusting my pants - tugging it up or pulling it down. And that's just the pants. Don't get me started on tops. Or shoes. Son of a bitch. I'm tired of this shit. Not everyone is pixie-sized small, fucker. Or slim and slender. Some are big and fat. Some are full and curvy. Some are simply gigantic.

Dad says I need a tailor.

So where's Mr. Tailor?