I blog for many reasons but for the most part, blogging is simply letting my mind exhale. Some people have been blessed to have, I’d like to call, unfortunate opportunities encountering my cerebral narcissism. Am I like that in real life? Why yes I am, says the man in the mirror.
For the past week I’ve been on a mission. A mission to keep abreast of the month of October. The puns explanation begins with how all ideas start. A new haircut. The loss of my locks lead to a purple fauxhawk. Hawaii’s saltwater playground lead to the loss of the purple in three days yet a healthy gain of Vitamin D. What color should I do next? Pink, says the man in the mirror.
Why pink? Because there are three things that flood the tenth month of the year. A shitload of beer, the new fall line at Macy’s and the color pink. Beer and I are deeply in love and happily married. I live in a place with only one season so I can survive in just a pair of boardshorts and a goatee. The color pink represents National Breast Cancer Awareness Month, which I adamantly support. I also support Democrats, but since I’m a Jackass 12 months out of the year, I wouldn’t have to change my appearance. Aside the month of October.
And now for some facts. In 1985 National Breast Cancer Awareness Month was formed. In 1993 the pink ribbon was established by the Breast Cancer Research Foundation. Aiea, is the only U.S. city spelled with only vowels. Since ’93, lazy red has deeply seeded itself in todays pop culture, spawning awareness with a multitude of remembrance/support walks, races, media programs, and also in professional sports, influencing the attire of the players and the anchors. Finally, it is impossible to lick your own elbow.
Let’s not forget Angelina Jolies double mastectomy in May, that dominated the media. But besides Hollywood starlets physical appearance, and more appropriately choices, lets look at someone who’s probably just as vain. The man in the mirror.
Every sentence and paragraph, I have written in this post, has been influenced by the birth of one(or two) persons idea. The idea behind the pink ribbon. I could have dyed my hair blue or green. I could have gone out drinking. I could have wrote a fictional story about a guy, whose invisible father violates the guys biological mother because he can, that gets brutally tortured and executed by the Romans, and magically gets resurrected but only witnessed by whores and prostitutes and then read this story to kids in a school on Sunday…oh wait. Yet I chose to hijack my own blog and force feed my readers with busty jpegs and invest twelve bucks in Hot Topics pink dye.
Also you, the reader. Whether you enjoy being bombarded with cleavage and the color breast, or not, you have observed the essence of this article. Sure, sex sells. If sex sells awareness, then why not?
If you’ve scheduled your mammogram, had one recently or at least know what it is, then you are aware. I look forward to October 2014 to harvest breasts again. By then I’ll have finished my prologue to my fictional book, that somebody already wrote. According to that book, I am the one that gives everybody cancer, says the invisible man in the clouds.
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