I do most of my clothes shopping here at Nothing Fits. I love this place. They really know how I feel. The specially trained staff know how to look at your love handles and give you a pair of khakis that totally accentuates them. They are so much more cracked out than a VIM or an OMG that I will be faithful till the day they close. There used to be the silhouette of a new wave lady next to the sign but someone shot her off one day because he was so upset by stuff the cashier said to him.

They are true to their name. They have absolutely nothing that fits you and they hate you and they laugh at you when you come out of their specially made Fitting Rooms, which have no mirrors in them, so you have to come out and look at yourself in the three-way community mirror. By then, they usually have gathered more staff to make comments and drop innuendo.

Yeah right – they don’t know what innuendo is! They tell you to your face that you’re fat. Or they say things like, “I’ve never seen those pants look so crazy on someone.” Or, “That shirt sticks to your body funny.”

This was the only thing I got from them the other day. Size: Irregular. The left arm is at least 5 inches longer than the right. I promise you. But I got it because Ernie Sweatshirt is just so damn close to Earl Sweatshirt that it MUST mean something.

If only Ahab just went and kicked it on 5th Avenue and 86th Street in Bay Ridge, Brooklyn
that book coulda been a lot shorter. He could have rode this guy for quarter and ran over to
Spumoni Gardens for a slice of the best Sicilian Pizza in NYC. It was probably the Cliff Notes people that threw him off course.

I know for a fact that this doghouse has been condemned since Giuliani was in office. I’m so glad it’s still there I almost went and peed on that plastic hydrant (I hadta pee in my pants instead). I thought about stealing the hydrant as I took this picture, but I didn’t want the dog to come out of the flap and yell at me.

The doggy door-flap is a picture of Venice