The Red Badge of Adulthood

There comes a time in every man's life when he must become a man. Except for Pee Wee Herman or Michael Jackson. (Owing to weirdness.) Or Gary Coleman, owing to shortness. Or unless he becomes a woman first, like RuPaul. But everybody else: eventually you've got to pony up. And Omar Bricks' pony is here.

How do I know? Read the tee-shirt, bitch.

Some misguided fucknuts actually consider home ownership to be the tell-tale sign of adulthood, but you and I know better than that. After-all, the King of China has a million palaces and he's only like five. Or if you need an example that hits closer to home, think of the Olsen Twins, or that kid from War of the Worlds. I'm sure they've all got houses, and probably in the same neighborhood. Which would suck if you live in that area, since your neighbors never mow their lawn or take out the trash, and just want to play with LEGOs all day. Which is a complaint several of my neighbors have levied against yours truly, sure, but I'd like to see some kid invent an air cannon to shoot his garbage over his house and into his neighbor Mitch's back yard, which is where that mountain came from that Mitch skis on in the winter.

No, an adult isn't made by the things he owns: not a house, not a dog, and most definitely not a car he borrowed from some bank robbers in Panama. An adult is made by whether or not other people think he's an adult, and Omar Bricks now owns a shirt that says ADULT on it in big, red letters, ending all previous debate on the subject.

Don't ask me where it came from, or what I was doing before I woke up wearing this shirt. If you know the answer, send me an email, because I'm curious myself. If it involved daycare in any way, then fuck that, don't tell me any boring stories. Make something up about alien abduction and we'll both be happier. I'd much rather think I woke up in a Starbucks bathroom with pissed pants wearing an alien sorter tee-shirt than to think I've been moonlighting at some daycare clinic that has a hard time distinguishing the staff from the patients.

I've been wearing the shirt for six days straight now, but don't worry, it's been in the shower with me a few times in that span, so it's not as if the thing smells like crotch snot. To be honest, I just haven't been able to bring myself to wear a different shirt since everyone's reaction to this one has been too entertaining to pass up for a single day, even if my "GIRLS DO IT" shirt has been feeling a little lonely this week.

Oh, and just for the record, the powers-that-be here at the commune wanted me to tie-in some product placement to this week's column, so I'm supposed to mention that the commune's official tee-shirt, that black one that just says "THE INTERNET" on the front in white letters, is back in stock. They got some more after the Crochet! staff bought out all the old ones to use as diapers for that children's hospital they were supporting. Oh, and while I'm at it with the tie-ins, that new four-meat breakfast sandwich from Burger King is pretty choice as well, just don't wipe your hands on your commune shirt while you're eating it or else you're going to look like a serial killer the next time you go into one of those black-light midnight bowling joints.

Anyway, the reactions to my "ADULT" shirt have been uniformly hilarious, and a lot more fun than the flack I caught over my infamous "Tits Ahoy!" tee a few years back. My favorite so far has been Rok Finger's, since The Rok actually believed me when I told him this shirt was from that Pakistani video store, Movie Muff, around the corner from the commune offices. I told him they had a whole special room in the back where they kept the movies for adults, instead of the English Patient/Grinch/Patrick Swayze bullshit for kids they stock the rest of the store with. Finger left immediately to check it out, since for some reason he's been rooting around for a copy of My Giant to rent for years, and didn't realize he'd been shopping in the non-adult section this whole time. Though my hunch is he ended up with some weird Middle-Eastern fetish porn instead, since he hasn't been back to work for three days.

As for Omar Bricks, I'll be spending the rest of my week crocking up more hilarious shirt explanations to sell to momos on the street, as well as putting in some more work on my plan for a matching car decal, possibly wreathed in blue flames. Bricks out.

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