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JWR 3.9 - i eat glue
I got a t-shirt from my roommate for my birthday recently and really dug it immediately. It’s red with white lettering across the chest that simply states “i eat glue.” It knocked me out. I thought it was the greatest thing on the face of the earth. I couldn’t wait to wear it to work that Friday, figuring nothing of it because, after all, my shirts have caused some discussion before.
For example, my Sevendust shirt that has “animosity” scrawled across it’s front in yellow lettering provoked a conversation between the president of the company, a couple engineers and myself.
I have a Chris Jericho shirt and every single time I wear it, the same guy asks, “What’s ‘Y2J’?” So I tell him because, even though I’d rather ignore it, I figure if I don’t feel comfortable enough to explain it, I should not wear it.
So I roll up in there on Friday with this shirt I feel can cause NO reactions, other than maybe a few laughs or a few sets of rolled eyeballs at the very most. It’s not controversial, and it does not warrant a discussion, just like those shirts that say things like “50 and foxy.” Just leave ‘er alone.
All day long: “You eat glue?” Eight people asked me if I ate glue. And how many more asked, “What does THAT mean?” pointing at the shirt. Do I really have to explain it?
‘i eat glue’ aye-eet-gloo: Humorous phrase on the front of vibrantly colored shirts meant in jest as a reference to very young children in school who eat their glue and paste during art or craft time. The absurdity of an adult wearing this admission on his shirt (almost in the way retarded children have notes pinned to their clothing [see: The Simpsons episode where Homer and Marge’s children are taken from them and given to the Flanders: “Stupid babies need the most attention.”]) is what makes it funny, pending individual reaction, of course.
There’s nothing to the joke, you’re supposed to make that connection right away. Like a cartoon of a Ford urinating on a Chevy. Either you get it, or you don’t. And if you don’t, relax, you’re not missing much. Not even a party anecdote.
That day I was assisting in a class to teach some employees how to use their new computers. And I went to pick up the lunch for the classes. I walk in the House of Sandwiches and this lady behind the counter asks, “Why do you eat glue?” But she said it with a dry voice and no emotion on her face at all. I decided even if she was only joking, she deserved a straight answer. With as little annoyance as possible I said, “I don’t eat glue.”
That night, we went to see a flick. I saw the girl’s eyes look at my shirt as I approached the concession stand so I crossed my arms over my chest, like women who don’t want you staring do. I smiled pleasantly and she was wise enough to not say anything, but the other fucks back there: “You eat glue only, or paste too.” I thought that was, at least, creative, so I said, “Nah, just glue. Paste is for kids.” Then he asks, “Do you put anything in it?” I don’t recall if I said anything else, but I just grabbed my p-diddy corn and went into the theater.
About two weeks later, I guess, I decided to give it another shot, so I wore it again. And it was the same shit, different day. The only two instances that didn’t make my blood boil were a) this phone salesman saw my shirt and just busted out laughing saying, “That’s good. Oh, John, you’re killing me!” and b) this tough-ass retired Marine said out of the fucking blue: “As long as you don’t sniff it.” And I thought, yes, this guy gets it. No other words passed, no preamble, just boom--the comment.
What is wrong with people? Is it once you reach the age of forty, you become a tired, stiff, old shit? It’s just a shirt and as I have explained, I need to keep myself entertained at work because, obviously, nobody else will do it for me. I mean, crazy shirts and making big paper airplanes and flying them down stairs and wearing silk panties amuses me.
I was thinking about having “not really” added to the back of the shirt: Coming (i eat glue), Going (not really). But I think even that would cause some discussion. So I figured that back should say “you fuck.”
Simple and to the point.
Hey, you eat glue?
No, but they ran out of the i-eat-vagina shirts. What can I say?
I know everyone would be happy if I donned the and nice, crisp button-up shirts and golf shirts, but I won’t be doing that. Maybe some red Doc Martens, huh, how ‘bout that?
Copyright © 2002 John Lemut