Like...a ninja!

Passed this on my way back to the office from lunch. I fully expect martial artists of different schools (Drunken Monkey Style! Crane Style! Etc Style!) to start launching themselves through the air at any moment.

Guns don't kill people. Ninjas do

Merry X-mas, y'all.

They can buy, but can't put on my clothes

I bought corduroy pants yesterday. Yes, you may point and tell me I'm an old geezer.

Granted, they're Carhartt, and they're baggy-ish cargo pants. So they're at least supposed to be in my style. But still. Corduroy. Not sure how to feel about that.

Then again, it might not be until I wear a corduroy shirt and beige slacks that you need to start worrying...

So now I'm walking around the office, announced by a soft swishing sound. Swish, swish, swish. Who's that? Beardo, can't you tell from the swishing?

Mah Girl came to the conclusion that these are not pants for assassins or ninjas. Stealth is out of the question.

I'm not far from applying for a membership here. I mean, come on. A membership card in a corduroy swathe. How can you beat that?