just minishorts.

Oh I hate to say this.

But YOU. You gross me out. You clean your own dirty laundry in public, and oh dirty just isn't the word to describe the filth on it. The stains are dark red, like dreaded menstrual leaks on a white sheet, and the smell, wooooh, no amount of fabric softener or cleansing bleach is ever going to cover the stench that wafts through the air with it.

It's THAT disgusting.

And yet you, you strut around in your proudest feathers, like a vain, ugly peacock, forcing yourself to believe that there's nothing wrong with drying all that filth in public for the world to see. You masquerade so well, you even believe in it's truth, but hey. Don't you see.

The word 'truth' in this context, it's encased within inverted commas–that means there's nothing truthful in it.

Why do you kid yourself and think you're so great?

Good luck man, good luck.

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