Open Letter to Anthony Bourdain

Dear Tony:

There’s this guy that hangs out at the library.  He looks a lot like you.  In fact, the first time I saw him, I thought it WAS you.  But then I looked at what this guy was wearing.  Please don’t be offended as I relate this story.

Because I know you tend to show off your slender boy-nerd figure, it took me a moment to realize that your doppelganger wasn’t wearing slim-cut man jeans, but that he was wearing slim-cut woman jeans.  And you, Anthony Bourdain, master of meat and all culinary things manly, would never wear woman jeans.  He definitely affected your cool, kithen-confidential gangsta-lean, that sauntering swagger as he walked 25 feet away from the door of the library (but not 30 feet, as requested, because he is no one’s man) to light another cigarrette, to savor it, to roll that mealy tobacco-ey goodness around his mouth and wish it were something more than it ended up being.

Oh, Tony, he was a poor man’s Tony, and forgive me for thinking that he was you.  Because you, you would never wear woman jeans.


Bama Boomerang


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