So far when I think of the people I'll frequent when I move to California I think of nice, civilsed, cultured, a bit hempy and overly-green individuals (San Francisco I'm looking at you), with a smattering of hot surfer boys thrown in for good measure. And then I see a thing like this and I am inclined to return my visa. (I know it took place in Chicopee, MA, but even so, the fact that there are a mere 3000 miles and a shit ton of rednecks between me and this slice of Americana is not reassuring...)
At least this clears up the mystery re who buys the Pajama Jean; if you're going to bitch-slap someone to the ground you sure want to be comfortable... Anyway, all that remains for me to do is present you with the moral of this tale, for which I will defer to the eternal elegance of my daily source of all breaking global news, Dlisted: "Give a bitch your maple syrup or the entire Internet world will see your thong." Indeed.
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