There's A Reason They Don't Put Rhetorical Questions In Cat Nip, You Shrewd Customer You

This boy seemed to have a real problem with those pants what say terms on the buttocks that have grown so popular these days. There seemed to be no origin to his tirade; no one was wearing them and the current topic had nothing to do with pants, asses or words. His jumping point must've been solely in his head. Either he had seen some earlier that day and was all set to come into class and start talking loudly to other people about his peeve, or this had been something his mind has been fixated on for a long time and he had just finished memorizing his draft he had been writing and rewriting for all this time. I couldn't tell if he was truly performing holy war against the term-clad clothing or if he just wanted to have something of interest to say so that the people eavesdropping on him would think he was clever. There were two girls in our group; girls change everything. In what may well have been a vague attempt to improve his appearance in front of the two females, his petty annoyance of the pants became rather a rant, a personal essay, a magazine article, a stand-up comedy bit.

And not a very good one.

See, I've noticed a lot of people have tendencies like I have to go on unrelenting rants against meaningless targets such as fashion, media and the otherwise ridiculous. But mine are better. Dammit. I'm more clever than you are when you hate things, and that is that. The most controversial thing he had to say about these pants was to "shoot them into the sun". I figured I'd add my two cents: "Those pants that say 'Juicy' on the ass always make me think something in there is dripping." This got a rise out of people, and I easily could've continued, but I had no personal vendetta about the pants. I tend to rant only when I feel a particular hostility towards something, and the pants had really not bothered me much lately. The pants and I could probably have had a conversation in the corner of a cocktail party without it feeling too awkward. But this boy became a low-rent, second-rate me when it came to this cultural phenomenon, and people seemed to like him for it. They don't see through the hidden motives. He's not saying that because he truly feels the pants should be shot into the sun, oh no. He wants desperately for someone to say to their friends later in the day "Oh my God, this kid in my class said the craziest thing about those 'Juicy' pants!" He wants someone to think he's funny and invite him to do things and incur further conversations, with further viewpoints on society and culture. He wants to be heard.

And who doesn't want to be heard? I'd like to be heard. But I also don't care. I rant in a blog, an inconsequential piece of nothing occupying space on a non-existance cyber realm. No girls are going to invite me to lunch because I wrote some snarky comment about Paris Hilton in my online journal. And, frankly, I wouldn't want them to. Because if they can be entertained by something innocuous like this boys sub-par conversation, let them have him. I'm fine being alone and more interesting than other people.