Saturday afternoon. Quick stop at the grocery store for supplies and an ugly realization. The next generation of loose women is listening to Creed.
This is very upsetting. I can cope with trashy loose women blasting Motley Crue and Poison and swinging their crimped over-blonded hair around like a helicopter while standing on a table in a dark bar surrounded by grimey, drooling men. But the same archetype thrashing about to Creed or Staind does not seem right. There's just nothing to redeem them.
So this post goes out to you, young, loose girl in the Stop and Shop parking lot blasting Creed from your parked Pontiac Grand Am. You are clearly ready to party, but the party doesn't want you.
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And then you have Leigh and I, still blasting Crue and Poison, being trashy... but not loose. Oh no, not that.
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