Seeing my dad wear Converse high tops has left me permanently sickened by the thought of them. Maybe it would be okay if he were a basketball coach or something. Heck, if that were the case, he could wear those kind with the flames on the side for all I care. But he's an accountant, and he's rich, and he can afford shoes that actually look decent on a 50-year-old man. I'm sure I'm just bitter because his income makes his lifestyle more relaxed than that of mine, my brothers, and my mom. But since I don't like to admit to having emotions, I'm content with blaming it all on his shoes. Which are totally ridiculous, but that should be apparent by now.
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"I sweat like a fucking nun on Sunday...I don't even know what that means."
- Sebastian Bach
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