Just because you bang east county skin-head "bros" and have black-on-bottom-bleach-blonde-on-top hair extensions does not give you the right to wear platform flip-flops with your denim mini skirt and pink "fox" wife beater. And please tuck your $3 chartreuse embellished stripper thong back into your skort...whore. Go ride a dirt bike and drink Keystone Lights until you throw up on your cheap Jessica Simpson clip-in weave. And when you finally break your ankle from wearing these and get outfitted in one of those sweet boot casts, then please don't think it's still cool to throw on a cocktail dress and hobble around the Gaslamp because you can't miss your boyfriend "spinning" at the club. By the way, hitting play on "NOW! That's What I Call Music 47" does not make him a DJ.
