“I don’t get it: We’re on stilts, wearing garish lamé parachute pants, and have capped our domes with ridiculous gift boxes from outer space and people STILL aren’t looking,” complained one part of the stilts trio in the midst of drunken indie fucks and ironic hipsters at Coachella.
“Maybe show your tits,” said the passing man.
But they, unfortunately, did not.
Hehe. This little post is perfect. It’s a nice Sunday night chuckle.
We should look for stilt-walking classes around town.
God, that would make really a really interesting hobby for us to have. Damn!
I hope we hone our skills by the time the Art Festival rolls around. If not, maybe we can crash a church carnival.
I bet people would pay attention to us if we did it!
stilts freak me the hell out for some reason.
i will have nightmares now.
also, those are the fugliest outfits known to man.
that is all.
Looks like another rigged America’s Next Top Model photo shoot.
I concur. Also, Henry got to the bottom of the Italian mystery.
Oh, Stalwart Henry! What was it?!
next sunday— let’s see tits. just an idea.
and they don’t even have to be yours.
you know how to REALLY stand out at a show? … a HUGE sparkly band branded amulet. that’s how.