i love my jim goad mannequin
My coolest friend, my best friend, the only friend I'll ever need again, is my new male mannequin which I've named Jim Goad.
He's the best, even though he scares me sometimes when I walk into my living room in the middle of the night and see him there. For a moment I think it's a burglar, but then I catch myself and say, "No, it's only my gentle, loving friend Jim Goad. Salutations, Jim Goad. I hope you're doing well. Can I pour you some sort of beverage?"
Jim Goad never raises his voice or talks back to me. Jim Goad understands my sense of humor. Jim Goad grasps what's important to me and what isn't. Jim Goad knows all my secrets and still accepts me. Jim Goad never babbles on and on and ON about things in which I have no interest.
That's why I've fallen dizzily in love with my new mannequin friend Jim Goad. He's a keeper. We close the doors, shut the blinds, and have fun—more fun than all of you, with your flashy credit cards and 50% cotton sports shirts, could ever comprehend.
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I apologize to all of those who were hoping for me to say something racist today. I'm sure some minority will do something soon to piss me off, though.
