Fashion victim, heavy thoughts and cornfusion

Fashion victim, heavy thoughts and cornfusion

Email Rachel at telegraph@durangotelegraph.com

Dear Rachel,

Ah, autumn. It’s finally becoming turtleneck season. Every year I pull my favorite turtleneck out of the plastic bin under the bed, shake it out, put it on, and remember how much I hate turtlenecks. It could be the finest cashmere; it still squeezes my neck like the softest serial killer. Do people actually like going around being choked all day? Is fashion really worth the slow death?

– Coming Out of My Shell

Dear Hero in a Half Shell,

I know you are a man. You know how I know? Because women die the slow death for fashion’s sake every god-forsaken day. A turtleneck choke would be sweet relief to end the agony of high heels, dental-floss thongs (not the flip-flop kind), and an ill-fitting bra. Why do you think we all ended up in Durango? It’s not for the views, I can tell you that. It’s for the flannel, the baggy jeans, and the stereotyped lesbian vibe. I mean, we already drive Subarus. Why not go all the way?

– Turtle power, Rachel

 

Dear Rachel,

Rock sales have got to be the weirdest scam on the planet. They are literally selling you what your yard is already full of, just with the dirt already sorted. And it’s also the cheapest stuff on the planet. We just bought five times the weight of my car for 1 percent of the price. And most of that was delivery! So they’re selling you what you already have, for mere dollars per ton… who is getting rich on this scheme?

– Stone Cold Confused

Dear Rocky Balboa,

They ain’t getting rich off of you and your $400 order, that’s for certain. Though think about it. Someone dug up all that rock with a heavy piece of machinery in under an hour. It got fed into another dirt-sifting machine for 10 minutes. Put in a truck, driven to you in mere moments. That’s a better profit margin than writing advice columns. And you’re small pea-gravel compared to the boulder boys. Don’t question Big Rock. Every step you take … they’re there.

– Stone me, Rachel 

 

Dear Rachel,

I swear that it’s the cool thing to rag on candy corn. What, just because we live in an age of organic tortilla chips and local tofu, we can’t enjoy the most classic candy ever made? No one, not even my yoga teacher, eats perfectly. And candy corn is sooooo delightful. And it’s only really available once a year. Unlike those sellout Peeps that change shape for every holiday. Won’t you help me sing the praises of candy corn?

– Changin’ My Name to Candy Corn

Dear Candace Korn,

O candy corn, o candy corn, how vulgar is thy sweetness. O candy corn, o candy corn, how vulgar is thy sweetness. Your orange so fake, it hurts my eyes. You say you’re corn, what a lame disguise. O candy corn, o candy corn, how vulgar is thy sweetness. Hip hip, hooray! for singing the praises of candy corn! I’d rather wear a turtleneck made of goatheads than let you pass my lips again.

– Knock knock knockin’ on candy corn, Rachel

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