I have a hole in my fucking sweater. A few weeks ago, I went shopping for fucking sweaters to add to my fucking wardrobe. I ended up purchasing three fucking sweaters from fucking Macy's. Little did I know one of my fucking sweaters had a fucking hole in it. Here is a fucking picture of my fucking sweaters:
I have a hole in my fucking sweater. Sweater number A is my favorite, and it's A-OK. No holes whatsoever, except of course for the required holes for my head, arms, and torso. I wore that one two weeks ago, and I enjoyed it thoroughly. Sweater number B is also quite nice. Again, no holes except for the requisite head/arm/torso openings. I wore that fucker last week, and it gave me great pleasure. But sweater number C is a different story altogether. Look more closely:
I have a hole in my fucking sweater. Did you see it? Right on the fucking seam where the fucking shoulder meets the fucking arms. That's a high visibility area, my friends. Unacceptable. If the hole in my fucking sweater had been in the armpit region, I probably wouldn't be that fucking upset. Because hey, who really sees the armpit region of a fucking sweater? NOBODY...unless you walk around all day with your fucking arms in the air. In which case, you've got bigger problems than just a hole in your fucking sweater.
I have a hole in my fucking sweater. Whatever happened to a little thing called craftsmanship?? Does anybody take any fucking pride in their fucking work anymore? I went to fucking Macy's specifically so I could reduce the odds of my buying a sweater with a fucking hole in it. But I guess they're too busy planning lameass holiday parades to worry about fucking quality control.*
I have a hole in my fucking sweater. No, I do not have any fucking moths in my closet. Don't even go there, girlfriend. Why would a moth eat only one fucking sweater - along the seam - and leave my other fucking sweaters intact? Besides, if I had a moth in my closet, wouldn't I see moth droppings everywhere? Trust me, the only feces in my fucking closet is human.
I have a hole in my fucking sweater. Am I supposed to inspect every fucking garment now before I buy it? I fucking hate shopping enough as it is. I don't like looking at clothes in the fucking store because I can never get the fucking things folded the way they were before. Maybe that's why clothes are so fucking expensive - they all have to be folded by fucking origami masters.
I have a hole in my fucking sweater. I didn't save the receipt, so I'm fucking screwed. That's thirty fucking dollars right down the fucking drain. I tried to fix the hole in my fucking sweater by poking at it with a fucking stick, but I just made the fucking thing worse.
I have a hole in my fucking sweater. I swear I think it has gotten bigger since I started writing this fucking post. Soon there will be no fucking sweater left. If left unchecked, the hole may start to engulf my other two fucking sweaters. When will it end?? Perhaps the hole in my fucking sweater is actually a vortex leading to another dimension - a dimension filled with hole-free sweaters.
I have a hole in my fucking sweater. I suppose if I had two heads, it would be a Godsend. I could just enlarge the second fucking hole and stick my second fucking head through it. But alas, I was born with only one fucking head. And that head is telling me that my sweater fucking sucks.
I have a hole in my fucking sweater. Do any of you fucking idiots know how to repair the hole in my fucking sweater?? If so, speak now or forever hold your fucking peace. Otherwise I'm going to take my fucking sweater back to Macy's, stand in middle of the fucking store, and light it with a fucking match while singing three choruses of fucking Kumbaya.
* I wrote this fucking post before Christmas. So sue me.